Poem of the Day — Spiked Clap

Spiked Clap


Claws, wizened, curled and sticky

Farmland cold and green, brutal, unforgiving:

I am chilled to the bone, gathering moss like stones,

Thrown from roses.


A prick on the finger

A trip to the outside

Ride until dreams unfold like origami brothers and sisters

Folded by skilled fans

Spanning a generation.


While you fire a paper:

Spark; a timeless memory

Scurrilous blades shaving filaments from light bulbs

To stab a space in time.


Lace tied to staples,

Hanging from mouldy, dripping window panes

Light tears,

Stammering a sentence of affection


Fractured pump leaking steam

In tandem with black tape to hide the scuff marks

Left by the travelling fair

set up for cream tea functions

Compounding repulsion


A game


In time


April 23rd 2016

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2016

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