There is a hard art up there,

as it was before,

before the strung beads of sweat

set a face lost into this.


The name of it is unsure,

outside science or introduction,

a Braille hinted, the landscapes



The settling, not a thought, exact,

but a movement of things taking shape,

is a real thing – a tact

witnessed in the company of


creatures that move and creatures that don’t;

things unseen and unheard of,

the spectacle of weather

to the quietest part of the skull,


a close expanse, a paddling to,

where unknown, it is


Always under the last thing,


moss feet and floaters,

and the huge sterile glaciers,

passing onto, Sea or static,

and even now under you,


silent in the grave.


◄ Panic Attack

She Changes ►


Profile image

Marianne Louise Daniels

Thu 6th Oct 2011 11:09

Thankyou for the comments.

I do wish I could monitor the comma, I get quite tangled up sometimes and am obsessed with controlling pace now.

Profile image

andy n

Thu 6th Oct 2011 08:56

excellent, Marianne.. particularly enjoyed the last stanza and the line that is broke away from it at the moment - adds a lot of power.. top stuff xx

Profile image


Tue 4th Oct 2011 20:44

The more I read this, Marianne, the more I love it.
It has an elusive feel to it... as do many of your poems!

Really like 'moss feet and floaters'

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message