Poetry Blog by Becky Sowray

Tags from last 12 months

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steve pottinger on gate (Thu, 12 Oct 2017 02:03 pm)

Raj Ferds on gate (Thu, 12 Oct 2017 09:03 am)

Becky Sowray on out side (Thu, 7 Sep 2017 12:37 pm)

Stephen Mellor on out side (Wed, 6 Sep 2017 10:22 pm)

Becky Sowray on two things (Wed, 5 Jul 2017 02:04 pm)

Stu Buck on two things (Wed, 5 Jul 2017 01:47 pm)

Becky Sowray on The Concrete Road (Fri, 23 Jun 2017 12:37 pm)

Raj Ferds on The Concrete Road (Fri, 23 Jun 2017 11:29 am)

Laura Taylor on The Concrete Road (Fri, 23 Jun 2017 09:52 am)

Becky Sowray on Dandelion (Fri, 19 May 2017 05:43 pm)

loch

loch

 

she was late, the moon;

knew that I would wait,

by the water, hoping.

 

life drunk, she staggers;

flirting with morning;

greedy for tomorrow.

 

night after night, weary.

high, broke and barefoot;

she holds me; dancing.

 

we leave corpses,

fears like broken moths,

rumours remaining.

 

we rest by the loch;

she brings stories,

long br...

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moon

reserve

on being reminded that I am the quiet one

 

reserve

slip anchor from reserve,
moon lit, night fired high,
slip anchor from all days,
forget the names of things.

drunken memory by this river,
shaping mud to make a stage;
the ecstatic risk of drowning.

cut manners, method, talk,
a hand’s perfect breadth,
cut history from the books,
write the empty page.

drunken memory by th...

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performance

kitchen

for amy

 

kitchen

my gran clears beer lines,

caustic fizzes in the sink;

round the kitchen table -

my baby walker now a car;

the scent of daytime beer.

 

the dog smells dead fowl;

yelps, pines for running,

my dad’s van and Sundays;

feathers as death’s proof;

heavy, high, hanging flesh.

 

vicious grins and woollen hair,

pagan gods of carved turnip,

...

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gate

gate

 

you draw rust where heat’s been;

some passage of time;

life’s clouded outcomes;

weather or not we care.

 

you’re iron to me; blood strength.

took years to find you;

all: frame, hinge, key, arch;

allowing passage back.

 

 

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scienceselfsurreal

out side

out side

 

the other side of skin

the stuff that lies within

the line you drew

the place we met

where we begin

 

echo, lie, repeat

echo, lie, repeat

 

the knife of ambition

of sticking it in

of threatening me

of not giving in

out of my skull

 

echo, lie, repeat

echo, lie, repeat

 

waiting to dance now

walking the floor

a tune in my ...

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two things

entry picture

two things

 

rain soaks, creeping cold,

hates the blue of sky.

wishes only for sun.

 

one night arms held me,

i had all i wanted, quietly.

woke softly for days.

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lovenot love

The Concrete Road

the concrete road

 

still dark and darkening night, the dead cold of dying winter,

rain against the windscreen, speed in easy, selfish solitude.

my shirt gives up the scent of soap.

(i have no other dream.)

 

noise surrounds me, the oil-ribbed sounds of a lost summer,

the meaningless bypass between here and some other place.

yet hands formed this path.

(i have no othe...

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goalsroadssummer

Dandelion

Our moon fell hard to earth,
soaked through night to soil.
The shivering ground waited;
swallowed silver gilded dust.

For winter a formless heart;
ice and rain raise no pity.
The world holds on …
for something better.

An imperfect star orbits;
reluctant saviour, pulling close.
Warmth and a debt of heat;
full completeness in time.

Gaudy, childish; bright beginnings;
each bloom a ...

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A Beautiful Man

Today; thinking and chatting with a musical friend about the creative thing.  That gap nothing else satisfies.  Your own response.  Some aspect of the day distilled.  Here's mine today.

 

A Beautiful Man

 

So he’s tall.  Or not.

That he commands a room,

or skulks in a corner.

Watches.  Listens.

 

So he’s quick.  Perhaps.

A mind that moves,

builds new worlds.

Gu...

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Right

I wrote this from a few lines that have been running round my head for a while now.

Right

The house to our right is empty, right now,

Right out of people and sofas.

All that stuff.

 

They’ve got the builders in, right now,

to make sure it’s right.

Just ... perfect.

 

Right before Christmas my mate moved out.

Everything in there was alright.

It was home.

 

...

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poetry villages local

Road Home

I drove home from Sunday night folk club with a storm over my house in the distance.  The beginning of this came to me.

 

 

Road Home

 

Leaves and walls and windows spin,

a jigsaw broken by a falling sun.

Heat,

the road home,

a breaking storm.

I wonder what we began.

 

There is no calm centre,

power and colour after.

 

Yesterday isn’t the journey,

no...

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abstract surreallyricspoem

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