by Chris Winter | May 12, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
The flame is out There is no wisp left stirring. Nor is there hope: no claim upon a light-weave brilliance that hovered, shook the earth, and then was not. A jolt is left, a return to familiar ground, a wavering impression as of a click, a sudden switch-off flatness;...
by Chris Winter | May 12, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
At Sissinghurst Touch hands in an intimatekiss touch sudden heatin a cold-fingered morning touch the leavesand fields and woods in a great gardenalight in October touch words let them lieat ease and mingle in a fine tousledbed of land touch a flower-brilliance...
by Chris Winter | May 12, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
Towards what loveliness Towards what lovelinessdoes the day turn. A breath comes once againof a new being: as into the air climb songs,a palette of colours at a symposium,a feast of voices: now a blind speaking-in-tonguesof sky-shades, up for discussion in the...
by Chris Winter | May 12, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
In a sweet drift In a sweet drift we went our waysas one. To each an intricate gifthad been entrusted. For a few daysin a sweet drift it had the look of a thing that stays.But when the end came it was swift.Something had snapped. No long delays, no drama of doubt, no...
by Chris Winter | May 12, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
When you swim When you swim you are out there, breakingthe all-about surface again and againwith total abandon. The sea is your ally. When I swim I am nearer the shore. I am no match for a muscle of being that you embrace, that embraces you. We swam together a few...
