Sunday, 5 December 2010

Feathery Language by Cathy Cullis

Icicles like never before.
I could get used to breathing like this,
a feathery language.

It is now fine to wrap yourself and go,
anywhere, upstairs, to the stars.
The moon has a new dead ring.

A cat enters with a frosted beard,
enters your dreaming, refuses blank stares.
Stairs, stars and stares. This is your winter.

Liking its efforts, snow won’t stick.
Later is no longer in the dictionary of snow,
this blue makes present even recent mistakes.

The secret is a little egg white, the taste of kelp.
This is how even stars spread themselves thinly.
You wear your coat inside.

Cathy Cullis, England


Crafty Green Poet said...

Cathy was born London 1969 and has had work published in a variety of journals and pamphlets. She holds a MA in Creative Writing from Bath. Received an Eric Gregory award from the Society of Authors in 1996. Quiet years of writing quietly; a young family. Currently living in Surrey, writing poems and working as a mixed media artist. Most recently poems in The Rialto.

Gordon Mason said...

This is wonderful. It is not your standard snow poem in the slightest. The images are superb and the last 2 stanzas are unbeatable.

russian women said...

You are really great talent.


I find Cathy's words are always so mysteriously magical

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

oh my goodness, i have no words to express how much this makes my insides scream yes