Poetry Madrigal by Galadriel Mitchelmore

The World Between the Words
MADRIGAL

Place me where I’m standing then

put yourself beyond the night-slept

cliff where only furze simmers

its unsleeping blooms.

Strontium-point burning

embeds a hare’s form in the prehistory

spun of dangerous mechanisms:

Molochs, Horned Toads and deep

Viperous bites hidden

amidst an Indian Tea-Rose’s

blush hunt between warm thighs

heated rasp of legs Kusa-Hibari’s

love songs reverberate

across this Cornish headland.

Echoes of Saturnalia

ride a henge fastening dream

to memory inherited.

Whose coast is this?

My caught out shape lingers

against the night’s black page.

Inscripted glyphs

magnesium stipples

of arcane knowledge translate

to the harboured watcher.

Life is only partly that.

The cove holds its dark off.

Long karmas to the wreckers

Foolights - Spanish doubloons - Loe

Bar seeps them dead-minted

salvage for raincoat pockets

metal detectors -

Suppose Excalibur, fire-chased

Matter lies all spangled and hot

fey-forged and whetted

deep beneath the algae bloomed

waters of Loe’s Pool?

Murmur Caledfwlch, my fingers

catch the vapour from my lips

of bud-cut vowels and the difficult

consonants said all strange marvelling

that such sounds exist.

Rising epochs of language

cut for devourment.

Ringbarked Albion’s rigors smote

a Teutonic plosion to blood-wash

the Kernow tongue.

Kwuk uk-uk Chough laments.

Pinions of Columbite black

spear-strike the air to release high

flung glottals of song rising as unfettered ribbons

vanishing upon thermal scapes:

Ke –– ah, Ke –– ah

caught and lost re-enveloped in myth.

Only my wakefulness

dreams on. Tide eerily

sucks its coronary blast

pausing universes

in another plosion of sound

before rolling its hurl

with a deafening

smash over chiliads –

the slow raze bleeds from the salt

liquored rock metamorphic

jewels of tourmaline, quartz

and amethyst, trickled threads

of silver and gold.

‘O’ a coronet of far thought

girds my own mark here,

a fleshed ripple on Times’ enduring

respiration and as seemingly tenuous

as thrift’s shivering dance.

Slip tears to fall sad-lonely

fearing even as my signature flourishes

its closure. But you’ve caught

up, found my secret trackways.

I reach tucking my hand

into yours, smiling under your kiss

shared in that glorious

Summer evening prophesied

to fade into a scent

tugged long way out on the breeze

snapping like a kite’s taut thread

lost and untraceable.
 
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