Monday, 25 November 2013

A poem by Kathy Greethurst


Tamesas 
              
I go to the weir when the sluices are open
to listen to the white water roar.

In its dark, 
it has the life of every creature in its blood.

It has its charge - its Charge of the Light Brigade,
cannon to the right and cannon to the left,
into the Valley of Death.

It has its honking Toad,
its own piper at the gates of dawn.

It has its blood bank, and its centrifuge.

It has its Laureate reading a sonnet,
a song creating a rhyme of its own.

I go to the weir when the sluices are open 
to listen to the white water roar.

It has its surf over white horses.

It has its lock,
lifts and sinks,
sucks a barge out of slack water.

It has its sports track
where kayaks come to play.

It has its clogged arteries.
It has its varicose veins.

I go to the weir when the sluices are open
to listen to the white water roar.


Kathy Greethurst takes her dog for a walk in the beautiful South Oxfordshire countryside and returns home with poems about the landscape, relationships and death. She has been writing poetry for seven years and has an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University. She is currently studying for her second MA - in Cultural Astronomy and Astrology and is exploring the relationship between humankind, poetry and the Cosmos. She has just stepped out of the closet to have her work published - by  Interpreter's House, Indigo Dreams and Domestic Cherry.

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