blue skies poetry

At 2am
an ant on the ceiling
with the proportions
of a medium sized Rex Murphy,

an eagle rotisseried
on a lattice
of faux wood window blinds

Arbutus trees, stripped naked,
teasing,
frigging their come hither leaves
against the frigid glass

a militia of grasshoppers
rustling their little legs
across the bedhead
with an Ignatieff
of ineffectual rifle fire.

There are
musket laden woodsmen
under the eaves,
playing cards,
drunkenly sobbing
for the loss of centuries,
of families and land
in old
Dorset and Gloucestershire,

hunters
laying glittering jawed traps
spiked with the poisoned tears
of a forgotten Europe,

spying
though knot holes in the walls,
whispering insults
and calls of love
in a voice
that I can only recognize
as mine.

~ Alan Hill

Alan Hill lives in New Westminster British Columbia. He has been published in Canada in Canadian Literature, CV2, Antigonish Review and Vancouver Review. He has also been published in ‘Rocksalt’, An Anthology of Contemporary BC Poetry (Mother Tongue Publishing 2008).

Filed under: Alan Hill by akublik Date 3 February, 2011