Gods dance within us.
There in his keep, netted in with nettles
Knotted with rooted lives, the shadow people.
His crown ruffled with grass, sharp wild thistles
Hints at nothing, just dark verdant tangle.
From here he watches us build with branches
Then stones, then brick, make homes, make whole
A flick of gold delights as he dances
With pale anticipation of fresh souls.
Now scratched out in rows, march out trenches
From gravel, to dry stone wall, to old oak
They shun the shade that slowly approaches
Warm in the cold earth they hold on to hope.
“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.”*
Gods dance within us, beautiful, flawed.
*Taken from the grave stone of Maria Bird opposite the Devil in Polesworth Abbey, near Tamworth, Warwickshire.
The radio prattles,
cars grumble alongside,
the ice slowly fades
from the windscreen.
I look up.
In front, printed in
thick black ink
stand the sleeping frames
of age old oaks
guarding the horizon
against the sudden dawn.
Vibrant azure, fluffed with
white streaks, ignited by
the pink, distant star
stops me dead at the wheel.
I don’t believe in God.
My mother doesn’t believe in Microwave Ovens,
but they do exist.
Gods dance within us was a winning entry in the Polesworth Poetry Trail competition and is now carved onto a headstone in the graveyard of Polesworth Abbey. It was also published alongside December Sky in the Spring 2009 edition of The Cannon’s Mouth and Athiest is the second poem in my collection of writing from Blackheath Books. Please feel free to contact me if you require any more details. Copyright for all the poems rests with me the author, Garrie Fletcher.