Edwin Stockdale

Wessex Fog
(for Thomas Hardy)

He lingers in Yalbury Wood,
breath choking like tear-gas.
A thrush cries in a thicket.

Beech branches flail,
barbed wire against desiccated sky.
He lingers in Yalbury Wood.

Snow falls: grey,
tainted with ash.
A thrush cries in a thicket.

Fence posts are machine guns
primed to fire.
He lingers in Yalbury Wood.

His feet shatter bones,
dried leaves under his boot.
A thrush cries in a thicket.

Narcissus planted for spring,
soldiers’ buttons.
He lingers in Yalbury Wood;
a thrush cries in a thicket.

Copyright © Edwin Stockdale 2015

Edwin Stockdale has lived in Chester and Lancaster and currently lives in Leeds.  He has recently been published by Long Poem Magazine, the Coffee House and Ink sweat and tears.  His debut pamphlet collection, Aventurine, was published last September by Red Squirrel Press.

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About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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