Beth McDonough: two poems


Under this shroud
anything passes. This mastless drift
of ships dreams turgid wakes
slopped by mud on weed slime
haven walls.  In ports, seeped back
to faded maps, steeples disappear. Streets
drain into hidden homes where no-one
fillets scrimshaw scrapes or
rottensmells old bones, fished
from soups in whittled time.
Nothing here
but the haunt.



Riddle 4

I swear I saw       a swirl of them,
Decked out in green,    despite the early month.
So fragile, yet so fierce    against that force – they still
Rooted in that shifty       tilth. Although
No saw was seen,    by stealth all flatten
Later, to rise right up again –     and to repeat that trick
Twice daily, bright and bold     as ever they had been before.

So, watcher, which lifeforms      were these?


Copyright © Beth McDonough 2016


Beth McDonough first trained in Silversmithing at Glasgow School of Art. Often writing of a maternal experience of disability, she finds poems when swimming in the Tay, foraging and when riddling with Anglo-Saxons. Currently, she is Writer in Residence at Dundee Contemporary Arts.



About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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One Response to Beth McDonough: two poems

  1. Amanda Paladini says:

    Riddle 4 …..could the life forms be Tides? ☺

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