Spen Dyke
Unicorn
witch
wood by lytham hall by weatherspoon’s
I
saw a unicorn
she
– possibly she – seemed lonely
and
lost
even
listless
more
emotive than a horse by far
and
its smell
so
acute
like
rosewater, then manure
Aquiline
on
the sixty-eight stagecoach bus
I
see a scaly creature in the sky
coasting
over st. anne’s
teasing
those dunes with aquiline
wings
by
the hospital, another saint
testing
the air by the white church
untested
and fresh, the creature
settles
above granny’s bay
as
calm in the clouds as it would be
on
the ground – more so
Pointer
a
grey-bearded stalwart pointer
german,
wirehaired
watching
the entrance to costa
with
a steady, human eye
he’s
waiting for a warlock
coming
in from the east
a
Tyneside man with
magic
in
his hands
the
pointer sits, his concentration
lapses
and
sandgrowners leave with their
differently
spiced lattes,
unaware
that the weight of our world
rests
on the back of a dog
Froth
Goblins
these
unusual things by Central
North
and South
slips
of frothy seawater
slack
ends of a spout
tiny
and chill
get
in tricky spots
between
crannies
forget
your nooks
when
you’re riding infusion
froth
goblins hang mid-air
jelly
on a plate, jelly on a plate
mean
no harm, so
when
you spot em
smile
they’re
no spat
Sand
there’s
a dog made of sand
opposite
the Grand
it
waits for Spen Dyke
to
fill its boots
its
muck un mud
from
fairhaven to the tower
on
the escalator
hounds
hill
the
sand-dog sits and spots punters
leaving
panto
and
smiling
Spen
Dyke bubbles
another year passes unnoticed
Kieran Wyatt lives on the Fylde Coast. He is
co-chair of GenSex (@GenSexResearch), an interdisciplinary research group,
asking probing questions about gender and sexuality. His work has been
published by Eunoia Review, The Art of Everyone, and Small Leaf Press. He
graduated from Edge
Hill University in 2018 with a degree in Creative Writing.
No comments:
Post a Comment