Poetry Blog by Adam Whitworth (2019, poetry)

There's a stand of woods to which I'm drawn
hand on the bark to be sure.
And tinctures right earthy  
now real, now elusive, grow heady
among spires all rooted to the core.

And you want your love to know your love?
Stand here but more than enough.
And swear sweet this love new made
of the grove's inspired clay,
your longings conveyed by the doves.

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May be read or unread
that is not our concern

it 
bloom spontaneous in hermetic mind.

May be misunderstood
or diluted in time
no matter

it
restoreth a most ancient faith
by a most novel innovation.

May wield the harsh weapons 
of a vengeful orphan

it
distracts a fool from his folly
installs a world unnoticed.

May be a phial of stage blood
to stain the sea red

it
...

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A few silent words lay between us
on some stained and shady card-table
for all the song and dance now skip'd along
and each chosen line stands for ten
this the burden of being penned

A bitter glass of judgement lies full-drained
truer thirst realised in venom-fail
offer a fair hearing to one dream-sane
the slightest insight magnified
for its own sake rest satisfied

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