Of All That Is Pleasing


They say there are things that only the wife-ducks see, over in those pale half-moon shapes, the bracken fields of roaming cloud, where men shift stone and birth at the ploughs, straight as they go, the ox and wagon;
        where thrush lay eggs in speckle spots, and crows bear fruit in spiny teething, sharp are the points of their ebony beaks – whence they sting hard as a dead bear hammer.
        Where cow sheds are laden with that fur-curling sound, the foxes are tricksy between sheath and the pulley. Wet noses sink further ‘tween pulp and the flurry, of mosses and planking when the bovine are plucking.
        I’ll sleep with the signets before mothers come tutting, least be afraid of the father’s white pluming. Perhaps he’ll come singing, when I’m bounding through gulleys? Or when boats in their mooring are stuck in their tipping?
        Seeing the parsnips grow round and grow steady, the sweetness in cylinder is no less than the swelling, where my heart brims a tune as the flesh it goes swimming, and mouth and the mind are as sound as their humming. They’ll swim in the flurry of mouse steps and tipple, an amber tipped stick in the goldest of honey.
        Those far-away fields breed a sound in the thickets, where wife-ducks are pleasing and horse tails are long. And the steps of the parish are wet and they’re sticky, with the salt and the shrouding of moon’s overflowing.
        Shall I lick at the wall-stone as he’s waxing and waning? Perhaps mother will scold me if I’m late for the picking; I long nightly to see all those lanterns where brimming, over cow sheds and foxes as night-time is falling, and feet do their sinking in the softest of sludge.
        I’ll put fish in the traps made from silvery captures, and the pines will start swaying as the sun takes a tumble. Some say there are things that only the wife-ducks can see, where the grass is as pleasing as the horse tails are long.


© copyright Eve Redwater 2012

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16 thoughts on “Of All That Is Pleasing

  1. Hi Eve. Two words come to mind as I read this poem: ‘woven’ and ‘lyrical’. Very nice. I like the form of the poem and the phrase: ‘the salt and the shrouding of moon’s overflowing’ Jane

  2. This is so beautiful it takes my breath away. The evocative language creates the effect, of course, along with the rhyme and the short rhythms within the longer line, but you are a poet.

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