Any Of The Above
funny how we are each
ghosts of the future,
our histories
before us.
Curious, no? , how we are
all
the spawn of
lust,
one way
or another.
Strange how some people
have all they do not
need,
while others have all
of nowt much.
Sad how none of
any
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poem by Garry Stanton
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Loch Ordie
She is whirls, of
argent and raven,
she is pools of
unbroken eternity,
where jagged pike,
honed abyssal arrows,
consume
blank space.
Here is
Stygian subterfuge, an
onyx underworld, as
midnight anglers (from another world)
attempt to pierce the
primeval meniscus. It is
their calling
from the cave.
O, She is Female! , moulding
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poem by Garry Stanton
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Get me to the church on time
All into church on time,
sliding
into pews, awaiting
the main event.
Outside, frost grips grass,
grimly, as a pale January sun begins to
descend.
No summer wedding, then.
There are smiles, tears, solemnity.
We pour into the chill air, between
tall, varnished oak.
This is their wedding date,
and she floats in, an early bride,
leaving gracefully a gleaming Morgan.
Candles burn, some proud, others
sad, tiny devotions.
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poem by Garry Stanton
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