Poetry

Pacing Call and other poems

by Andrew Taylor

Pacing Call

Like glass in a turned field
it is recognition of shift

I prefer Tarmac in relaid
car parks at twilight

with the evening calls of birds
the sharing of information

becomes priority

Digging in the heap

twilight estate              white PVC
offers the illusion of Switzerland
Blackbirds search for roost

Sssh birds it’s time for bed
once when I was here
fireworks  kept me awake

like cotton gathered in Velcro
you offer reminders

To sleep in the cellar      in winter
is cold      especially without heat

Circular brick           patterns of bridges
glide of light      remnant of spring sun
over the docks

after a slow start
Cherry blossoms reach peak
the spiders are yet to leave

The cobbler is a bastard
the shoes are returned
unpolished

The tree surgeon was impressed
by the coppicing of the hazel

Lights switched on early
offer guidance past
danger of the rail

cloud cover masks the best
of the day which masks eventual
departure

Trilingual

Do not close
the blind

tide catches
late sun

spreads among
waves

buildings catch
glow slowly

before dark
balcony view

Do not sniff
the umbrella

scents long gone

railings silvered
salt attached

blue brown fade

cotton returned
to ground

Cool Harvest

They’ve built a wall
around the garden
we sat in twenty four years ago

Does the dirt remain the same?

The square is revamped
glitter cobblestones
in late summer sun

same river different swans

Waterside steps flood
markers video footage
walk towards town

September sound season
travel amongst ancient roses
Geography of intent

like a silent wind farm
you are here without movement

Leaves pressed against a fence
visible yet untouchable

Harvest of acorn
like a junction halt
wait for connection

machines do the work
the archive is incomplete

Rust

Rails rust through cuttings toward the city
nature plays – even hand
shadow buddleia to act
and grasp a hint of daylight

Trap Point

It gets busier
I’m thinking of your green dress
Toxic tags they paint at night
like engineers

the best they can hope for
is draping plants

Pick speed up fast track
Oh destination I love your history

 

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Andrew Taylor is a Liverpool poet and editor of erbacce and erbacce-press. After several pamphlets, his debut collection Radio Mast Horizon was published by Shearsman in January 2013. www.andrewtaylorpoetry.com

* * * * * * * * * *

diane grondin 4

Photo by: Diane Grondin

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