Wednesday, 26 December 2012

New Morning, Dark Rain

A long, black car like a hearse parked on a gravelled drive.
A hollow filled with rain water and a door, of all things,
propped up against a box hedge. The hedge is unruly, wild
and tangled and one could fancy that the door
could be opened into a strange pagan hall
that leads into the dark underworld
where earthy tunnels, lit by spluttering lamps,
lead into a secret hall where invisible folk
celebrate the new morning of dark rain.


  1. The first 3+ lines set out with perfect observational clarity, as well as with appropriately grave solemnity, a finely woven fabric of realism; which is then, over the final 5+ lines, gradually unravelled (almost as if by magic) by the magic of fancy.

    This is quite lovely, said the old man -- impersonating the wild, unruly hedge even while straining, with rheumy eyes, and uncommon interest, to see what lies through and beyond it.

    1. After yesterday's frolics,I look rather like the hedge myself. Thank you for this lovely comment Tom. Another to be treasured.



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