Four Poems by Matty Adams

 

Of the Heath 

I am of the heath. 

 

Tales of World Trees and stolen fire, 

these are the stories I love. 

Artemis bathing in a forest clearing, 

carving up Ymir to create a world - 

in these I see our lot writ large, for like Actaeon,  

we elementals make for fine fodder. 

 

But these sagas have siblings in the whispering willow, 

in the bog cotton, and in the reeds. 

I am of the heath and the tales of my heritage 

are found in the heather and the hush of narrative.  

Let no coffin cage my voice, no domesticated domicile  

keep the tale of my bones from the chattering dawn. 

 

Instead, when I pass coax the briar  

to claim my grave estate  

so future heathens may I inspire  

to muse upon our fate.   

 

 

Carriers of the Flame 

 

A chemical miracle, 

a stolen treasure, 

you incite every 

sinew to burst, 

but when your freedom was lost, 

your secrets were known, 

whose name was it 

that you most cursed?  

 

Titan or man, 

who most had your hate, 

that took you  

so firmly in hand 

that you could be called, 

like it or not, 

to every hearth 

throughout the land. 

 

Or was it forethought, 

and neatly planned out, 

did you weigh heavy 

in wait for the Spring, 

or for some poor fool 

with a mind of ideas 

convinced of the 

gift he could bring. 

 

You’re well-pollinated, 

both Master and Servant, 

with such a large 

domain to now roam, 

and no paltry few 

devoted to you 

and an altar 

in every home.

 

 

Concentrating

 

Concentrating in your arms, the world falls quiet, 

our souls have agreed to share all sound. 

we continue to smell—our perfume of lovemaking 

we continue to see—dazed at our ceiling 

we continue to taste—chapped lips meeting 

we continue to touch—cheek on chest resting 

we continue to hear—not quite listening.  

Concentrating to and on our beat.  

 

 

Galaxy Child

 

I look at your belly so round and full, 

and I think of the life that’s growing in you. 

What civilisation sits in your womb 

and threatens to stretch through the primordial gloom? 

Which seed of supernova has taken root in you, 

on which shade of the Bifrost did you slide on through?  

It’s a couple of months until the constellations have names, 

but with you, Child, whole galaxies will change.

Matty Adams (31) hails from rural Kerry. His writing often explores the human condition through the intersecting lenses of mythology and country living. He studied English in UCC for a decade and is currently freelancing as an online English tutor.