Poetry from the magazine - Issue 16
Absinthe on Black Hill
Jon Stocks (Sheffield)
Jon Stocks (Sheffield)
And this is how my consciousness
On moor land alone, light fading fast Absinthe and an absence of you
Stirs in me like a distant memory
On moor land alone, light fading fast Absinthe and an absence of you
Stirs in me like a distant memory
Of another life, a different world
With other moons and far distant stars And hums with strange exaltations Insights beyond articulation
A dream autism more strangely real Than this little box of space and time.
And this is how my consciousness
Soars beyond the day's pedantry
With other moons and far distant stars And hums with strange exaltations Insights beyond articulation
A dream autism more strangely real Than this little box of space and time.
And this is how my consciousness
Soars beyond the day's pedantry
Feeding on a tang of cooling air
The subtle change of light into dusk Sorcery at the edge of night
Absorbing elusive mysteries
That you can only know and fee
l And sense and never remember
A world beyond the bubble of mind.
The subtle change of light into dusk Sorcery at the edge of night
Absorbing elusive mysteries
That you can only know and fee
l And sense and never remember
A world beyond the bubble of mind.