Sunday, 31 July 2011

Morning in the Churchyard by Joseph Harker

The sea, turned upside down and hung over the city from
four posts, is beginning to drip. It rolls over itself, grey and
inverted, and breathes into the belltowers. The sky's language
is this suggestion of copper music. One big tongue of metal

clacking against its flared lips, one tall throat of marble
rattling with air. The first slants of rain stick to low angles,
coming in so shallow that they skip the surface of street
and sidewalk. Falling trigonometry and the calculus of

rogue oceans slamming themselves fragment by fragment
into earth. One church door is half-open. The wood is growing
dark with water. There is a surprised tree, its leaves caught
mid-flutter, each one laughing at its shameless green.

Joseph Harker


Anonymous said...

Lovely, I can picture the dark green/grey sky and the beautiful green of the wet tree.

radhe said...
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Carol Steel said...

I love this poetry by Joseph Harker. It is so sensuously lovely and creates such vivid pictures in my mind. I can't stop thinking about it. Thank you for sharing it. Carol

Melanie said...

Thanks, nice blog

CMDoran said...

...There is a surprised tree...lovely--the tree is now in my head. Thank you.

Gordon Mason said...

Images to make you read and reread; there's so much going on. Wnderful.