From my soon to be published collection ‘Growing Places’—here’s a taster—I’ll let you know when there’s a definite launch date. This poem was written as part of a project run by Nina Lewis, former Worcestershire Poet Laureate, when she ran a workshop at the Jinney Ring Sculpure Trail, one of the exhibits was a huge head carved from limestone.
I am ancient art or the apocalypse, I don't see your footsteps I hear the disturbed gravel. You breathe your bumbling tones, wonder if I'm sleeping or dead. You say I look soft-boiled I feel your fingertip bones on my rumpled skin as if touching parchment —serenity— yet...not skin, but limestone Bees and bugs my bedfellows, my egg of a head lies alongside the fragrance of lavender and fresh, pitiless, spikes of grass. Polly Stretton © 2021