*

maimed angels

tumble
through sun-fired shafts
into valleys of glass

the sea rides tidal fields
clashes with squalls
climbs over people

 *

at The Gypsy Mission Life Centre
appeasement is advertised

hot meals offered –

*

a woman

pulls a crucifix from the depths of her throat

a man burns newspapers
another juggles old puppets

the woman twists half-moons & tiny owls
into her hair – she clutches

at time’s watercolours

people head for the sand dunes –

& the girl goes too
but only she –

only she ripens amongst the lupins
amongst the black summer seeds 

which freckle the ground

*

you….. take us

closer to the horizon ….. closer to a finite

collaboration of dazzling tones

& festive moods

.

villagers….. recoil

from the volatility

of tumbling through fiery hoops

flickering up walls

of neon chatter

pitched high ….. too high

.

we …..approach

then take up

the intricacies of people’s maps

you plant smiles

on anonymous faces …..you say nothing

& a juggler

tosses his family’s bones upwards

then juggles them again

.

he limps off….. miming
the antics of a clock  

 *

tangled

amongst gilled stars & more stars

…..…..…..…..…..…..the bride’s

bouquet has been sewn

into the kelp embroidery

of her thinking …..she appears

on the beach….. father & daughter

in a complexity

of colour …..her father

calls to the thermal exhalations

of a stream …..they’re part

of a musical score …..the stream

fizzes …..& somebody’s

playing a cello …..another

a viola

…..…..…..…..…..…..a horse glazed

in mythology….. orbits

a yellow silhouette….. at night

musical fish swim upstream

lighting candles

*

distracted momentarily

a road worker
blocks a tattooed man’s

…..…..…..…..…..…..vista of red flax

last week’s orgiastic clamour for summer wear

reveals a street’s property-grab for jerseys …..…..…..…..for shirts

…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…but the man doesn’t care

…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…doesn’t grab

…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…doesn’t clamour

…..…..someone else offers a rare glimpse

of a family’s moon-lit kingdom
offers a roadside shrine

…..…..gift-wrapped …..fabled

.

…..…..…..the family

emerges …..from the hatched remains

of a dream theory

…..…..………………..for them
an esplanade of plants…..….. nocturnally
churns out blossoms

…..…..…..…..…..…..…..…....…..…..…..indigenous proverbs

shimmer through a growth fest

of freshly-zoned meanings …..petals dissipate

at the sun’s first taste

*

the best phase….. comes later

the companionship of a boy & his horse

the influence

of a green face amongst hills

is carved in folklore …..the horse

stares …..the boy wipes

his lips….. which quiver in the cold

the animal stares …..a rattling machine

is haymaking …..bundling dry grass

the goats are being milked

the sheep being milked

each morning the village

is cut neatly into slices of bread

& buttered …..each evening

magpies….. pluck at luminous grubs

the best part …..comes later

inside my house …..local heroes
run freely …..take up vantage-spots

the elm tree grows voluptuously
in the front room …..the boy

with the green face …..& the horse

at the window…..are wondering if

__________________________

Iain Britton is an Aotearoa New Zealand poet and author of several poetry collections. Poems have been published in such magazines as Southerly, Landfall, Cordite, Heat, Harvard Review, Poetry, The New York Times, Stand, Agenda, New Statesman, Prototype, New Humanist. THE INTAGLIO POEMS was published in the UK by Hesterglock Press 2017. A new chapbook – Project Constellation – has just been launched by the London publisher Sampson Low..