Earth Science News
It says on the news
small things are dying.
Insects and human sperm
are three-quarters gone.
I will plough my fears
into the earth. I will shake
kisses from an envelope
and plant them on you.
Flowers grow on your face,
bright and rampant but
they brown and shrivel.
Seed-heads swell and burst.
Oh husbandry! How the spores
rattle as they fly, six legs
like wind-chimes and wings
of rainbow cellophane!
But that cold hill I ploughed
is barren, as the Romans knew
and others have since learned.
In the brackish furrows
my fears grow wriggling tails
and burrow deep by instinct,
till questing little heads
meet the ovum at the core.
It says on the news
there’ll be a slowdown
in our planet’s rate of spin.
Next year I harvest earthquakes.
Carola Groom is a Saddleworth-based writer and social researcher. She writes novels and poems, and has some experience as a book reviewer and leader of creative writing sessions in schools.
ACTIVELY LIKE A SPARROW, SO MANY SONGS SUNG
Sparrows sit uncomfortably in shallow nests of straw;
one nest, several sparrows. I can delineate
their lives. One sparrow, two; I count just two.
They are tiny and fragile. Making noises, so I
noticed them; I think they’re kind of cute.
Brown, huddling at the sides of the nest, they
sit abreast the threat of snow. They have
a touch of black, actually. One step, two,
the sparrows uncurl and hope to move about;
their little legs arise and form a military
march. Around the circle they go, panting
like we would, and most of all, never leaving home.
Breslin White is a poet of Irish and Japanese heritage. Breslin can be found sharing the books he likes to read on Goodreads. He has published a poetry book called Lily Thrust.
After you were born, we planted a tree
– a sapling pear.
The glint of a spade in the afternoon sun; a signal
for the soil to nourish with tenderness
a ritual renewed by the sound of a new born’s snuffle.
In time, the blossom is as white as your flesh
is pink. Fragile heads flicker in the breeze.
A salutation to Hera.
Then come the fruits, kernels of creation.
Each one a single drop of tear.
Time waits for the flight of an angel’s wing;
as our abundant crop hails his first cry, our blessing
and so you were born
– a slow motion memory of pear parting tree.
The Blessing was originally published in A Slither of Air (2011) Indigo Dreams Publishing
Alison Lock is a poet and author of six publications – three poetry collections, two collections of short stories, and a fantasy novella. Her stories have won prizes in The London Magazine Competition 2015, The Sentinel Quarterly Review, and The 14th Conference for the Short Story in English at Shanghai.