OVATE [RED SPIDER]

The evening before sennight
cloaked men mutter mouthfuls,
rind of moon, earth waxen white
they lead out the glowing bulls

sickle wielders lop jewels
from the corpse crown
of a shrivelled oak and sunwise circle,
henge hugging the mounds

The mumbling grows a tone
the tone grows to a song
flesh spreads on standing stones
do your part and play along

"O bard on your silken string
ovate moon hatcher, your thread
in our ears, O guide, we're listening
O night creeper, white-black-red"

UNDER STARLIGHT, SMOKE

Under starlight, smoke.
A woman kneels snowblue
in a thick deer coat,
already the circling cold
has found entry,
it breathes against her skin
sliding into her bones.
Her three children huddle
teeth drilling in their jaws, 

Leaning back against the wind,
she spins her beech pick
through a threaded bow
whistling a sweet note
to the charwood,
to the tinder.
As dusk settles,
An ember answers.

There is nothing outside
the small lip of light.
Life is still
and locked under ice
So she unlocks it lightly
whispering promise
sweet nothings to build
something

A flame hatches
Legs clamber out,
With the crackling tinder
the legs grow stronger
the children moan
as the black heath
grows its limbs and red

BENEATH THE BIRTHDAY SUIT

Beneath the birthday suit
A grinning skull
A card charging bull
Beneath the birthday suit
A shit stained ape
An arsehole in a cape
Beneath the birthday suit
Old man gloom
A burial tomb
A vintage wine with the cork popped out
A sentient mouth with nothing to talk about
A gigantic ass fucking itself
A bucket of blood on the high shelf
A worm in a mask baked on bitumen
The work alarm at five o ten

THREE GUESSES

My old friend and I
We’re standing sweating
beneath a bald oak
He’s got his hand on my hip
“Lightning” he says
I shake my head, “age”
He cups his hands over my eyes
Everything burns but the tree