Tony Hill infrequently posts his poetry on the Write Out Loud website then takes it off. I am a fan of his poetic style, approach, narrative construction and internal rhymes.
Today, he most kindly dedicated his poem entitled ‘The Hedge’ to me because I commented it was my favourite. He kindly gave permission to post it here on my blog.
THE HEDGE
For Frances Macaulay Forde
One day, perhaps, he will let
me live, see my springy wrists
are bandaged in white florets,
see that I am ready for my
wedding, or my coronation,
not forget I have a heart,
albeit a ragged nest the sparrows
borrow from to build their own
in my arms, in my shadows.
O I have such weathers in me,
I flounce and foster summer
storms, know the hurly-burly,
the toss and turn, my feet at anchor,
my head at sea and so full
of birdsong my mind is crazed,
until he comes to eye me up
and cut me down to size.
When the toad sinks deeper
into untrammelled grass
and the drip, drip, drip begins
and the incremental moss
creeps, inch by inch, along
my limbs, and the lichen
mottles my skin, and when
I creak and ache, grown old,
he will forget about me again.
In winter I’m a basket case,
my mind completely lost
to high risk winds that
whistle their one tune through
my bones, cold and blue,
the moon bloody and transfixed
among my thorns. The wren,
as busy as ever, pickpockets
my shadows again and again
until the night is complete.
Come spring I will grow again,
come summer my veins
and capillaries will thicken
into knotted wood and words
that defy both secateurs and saw.
I will go haywire and stand before
him, a manifest of every bird
that has used me as its cage,
their songs my sweet tutelage.
How can he cut me down?
Tony Hill © 2017
See for yourselves – read the poem here and comments others have made. If you have time, read more – there are many worth your while.
Including a few of my own:
Trust Cinquains
I have
taken your words
folded both hands over
then held them tightly to my heart
Have you?
Don’t
let me drown
in a cruel sea without
that life raft of honesty.
Promise?
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003
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