Candice Morgan (Wales, UK) Contact the author
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Food chain
Horses' heads droop
like snowdrops
as they snort earth and grass.
They mind their own business
now that the day birds
have put themselves to bed
and the night-shift owl
is about to clock in.
He takes up his solitary post
on a favourite branch
out of sight. A ghost keeping
guard of the field.
Suddenly he sees her
through cold breath-
the trespasser,
a shadow of litheness, tiptoeing
on dead leaves.
Her tail weaves the air,
she is not hungry
but wants to kill.
The unsuspecting vole scuttles
hither and thither, its nose
twitching at the blackness,
sorting through the night's menu.
cmorgan 1999
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Claire
I was outside
on the riverbank,
on a raft of fallen leaves,
contemplating
the shortening days.
You were a stone's throw away,
behind vermilion walls
and windows
that reflected
a monochrome sky.
Your world
constructed out of time-
tables and chalk.
Where my own,
out of years and letters
unwritten,
now hushed
by the sight of your room,
looking south
on to the horizon
where
your hand
once held my dreams.
Candice Morgan '98/99
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Tora
I shuffle the cards,
deal pictorial narrative
with my left hand
that forms the Celtic Cross.
I am sealed
by the Star of Solomon
and the elements of earth
I draw from cups and deniers,
staffs and swords.
I am the High Priestess
seated between extremes
from which hang
Persephone's pomegranates.
I am the moon:
the observer of tides
that turns
virgin to mother to widow.
cmorgan 1999
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GREEN (taken from R.17)
You are smiling...that same warm smile which, like the
sun at its set glows. You are peaceful. This is your
time. Our time. For now no-one can disturb us. For
us the clock has stopped.
I will no longer look at my watch and you will no
longer say you have to go. As you once said, I can
just pretend for, this moment will never end.
I will listen to you talk in that soft way as you used
to, remembering each word I hung on to. You will look
at me and I will hold you there. For once only like
that day in July, I will draw you back to me before
dying:
Just for a while, I will give you life.
cmorgan 1997
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Blue Scape
she sees
the tennis courts only
and no other view
for this
she says
is your window
even though
you are miles away
and the sun
coming in as it used to
faint voices
children's screams
now all bathed
in a brilliant light
of yellow on green
cmorgan 1995 (pub. World About Us)
Summer Omen
The sun retreats,
slipping into the pocket
of a passing cloud.
The birds
abandon afternoon perches,
their concert of song
silenced early
by the heat;
its mist hanging over
the valley
like a gigantic spider's web.
While a man -
out walking his dog
fights for breath,
his lungs
full to the brim with stale air.
The sky, a gun metal grey -
as it sprinkles the first drops
of pitter patter...
the rain preceding
the first ripple
and crack of thunder.
cmorgan 1998
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Beached
It could have been a black sack,
Or was it a piece of clothing
That flapped in the wind
As he drew closer to the ledge?
Below him, the sea ejaculated salt
And foam onto the rocks
Where massed birds pecked
And squabbled like children.
He could only guess why they fought.
Their wings were a cloud
Of grey and white that blocked
His view through spyglass eyes.
He threw stones at them,
Wanting only to lift their shroud
So that he could see
What last night had brought to the beach.
The seagulls shrilled. Their panic
And protest sounding off sirens
While he closed hands to ears,
Cursing them to eat somewhere else.
It could have been a basking shark,
Or a small whale, his walks
Were always full of such sights-
Especially in the summer months.
But today, the smell was different,
Reminding him of mouldy cheese
And seaweed. Death's other smell,
Reserved for the pathologist's table.
The body lay in a heap
Of gashed arms and legs. And then
There was the eyeless beach-ball head
That made him heave and spew.
cmorgan 1998/99
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