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THREE POEMS

BY Jim Carruth

 

WILD POPPIES 

A ragged band of troubadours
perform each year at this roadside venue
by the steps to the drying green.
With a burlesque rush of blood,
Spring catapults into untamed Summer,
tissues explode from a magician’s fist.
Whirling arched and bowed
thin stemmed gypsies
struggle under heavy red taffeta.
Locally they dance nowhere else
bar this rough bank
among coarse grass and dockens.
Held with dependable pegs
the dull patched workday clothes,
flap applause for the dirt-verge dervishes.
Green-leaved admirers hold hands up in awe;
others buzz round the skirts’ dark centres
eager with exotic notions.
Unfettered Romany plucked from the show
succumb in a sudden fall of petals.
 

COWS IN THE FOG

The morning haar
strips contours from the land
submerges animals in the valley.
Somewhere beyond vision
a gate has fallen
the farm’s two herds
become one.
Shape shifting,
adrift from the shore,
they are bellows of sea lions,
cries of stranded whales.
Every utterance
from their muzzles
freezes a grey mist:
Mothers and daughters,
one great breathing,
heads raised to listen
for a sonar bond;
or the sad bell
of voice unanswered.
 

MACLEAN'S WAY HOME

Famed for his love of Laphroaig,
a 1957 gold Fergie,
and most of all his homing instinct
his exits from local barn dances were legend.
Refusing lifts when the time was right
he would just take off as the crow flies
straight across fields over ditches and dykes
dancing with shadows on the hill.
On longer journeys he would nap under hedges
rise with bird call and early light.
 
One morning his wife found him
snoring on his back in the spare room:
a scarecrow fully clothed sprouting hay.
Around the same time
Andy from Dampton farm
discovered his field of scattered bales
assembled in neat stacks.
Like the signature stench of fox
they marked someone passing through,
a days work already done.