Sunday, 17 February 2019

The Seventh Quarry - poetry in emotion

The Seventh Quarry - poetry in emotion

There, in a slash of hill, lies the lines of the veins 
that drip the bloody tears from mines quarried 
deep under this heathered hill. Heather, tired and
dusted, mauve between the warm knuckles of
rock that asks of the sea, come, just this once,
and wash away the fossilised words; tumble
them into the oceans of the people of a world
trembling with a need to know, how was it for you.

Each quarry getting smaller and smaller as,
what seamed deep, was in fact risen to the surface
of understanding. No need to dig deep here in the
Seventh Quarry. The pollen is ankle deep in words
both seminal and lotus upon the pale blue sky 
at the sea’s awakened horizon. The poets emerge 
from the Seventh Quarry, straightened from their toil, 
to lay the words teased from beneath the mons, behind 
the hymen of the hill, and thrill that upon your reading 
they might consummate the seed of an understanding
that what is written here is the lodestone of all their golden days.

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