KAMCHATKA TRAILS

KAMCHATKA TRAILS

 

Sometimes I dream of Siberia

and reindeer herds invading wilderness

invisible on paper maps or Google.

 

From nowhere a tiny village:

a post office, gas station, two hotels

an outdoor pool for masochists;

 

mountains wear a cloak of ice

the Moscow cook's on strike again

as executioner climate change

 

advances drunk with forest songs

sink-holes, universal negligence;

tundra worms freeze solid underground.

 

Shamanic laments echo across a lake

where brittle waterfalls stand

frozen at oblivion's farthest edge

 

and fat-wrapped grandmothers

light midnight candles to the saint

of trembling concertinas.

 

Lamplit Underground, October 2019. Editor Janna Liggin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

◄ THE SIN

THOSE GHOSTS ►

Comments

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john short

Wed 20th Nov 2019 12:22

Thanks for all your appreciative comments. It took a few drafts (and rejections) to get this right. But the value of rejection is it makes you go back and think again. How can it be improved?

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Rich

Tue 19th Nov 2019 16:37

Wonderful.

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raypool

Tue 19th Nov 2019 15:26

I loved the way you've captured an unyielding environment so well, with the bonus of brittle humour John. The last stanza almost warms it all up, the dry wheezing sound so redolent of folk music in different countries.

Ray

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Do.RoThy

Tue 19th Nov 2019 10:43

Much to learn from you.....m following your poems👍

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