Bob Beagrie – Blake’s Head

Blake’s Head

‘Then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for Peter. “How awful!” she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap. How exactly like a boy!’

J.M. Barrie

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man.’

Proverbs from Hell – William Blake
As is the searing song of the ragged angel
perched in the crotch of your favourite tree
as you wander homeward, taking a short cut
round the boating lake after a night of excess,
when the wallpaper became the first forest,
the rug an ocean, the fiery eyes of the cat
that sat on your chest were twin spiral galaxies.

As is the rampant savage under the veneer
of the fragile order of a mirrored self, smiling
through the lightening ripples of surface tension,
unbroken by the oiled, iridescent head feathers
of early feeding mallards, clacking at the passing
of your thin shadow, stretched out before you
on the tarmac, straining to the point of tearing.

 

 

Bob Beagrie  lives in Middlesbrough, has published five collections of poetry to date and is a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at Teesside University.

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