Four Poems and a Blue Sky

Hello friends,

Four poems this week, ending with a new one.

Also, a bit of news: you can now find me on Bluesky, @ AnthonyEtherin.

As ever, enjoy! (And if you do, please consider supporting my work by purchasing either The Robots of Babylon or my new omnibus edition Knit Ink (and Other Poems).)

SALT EARTH (Anagrammed Lines)

Tears halt
the altar's
latter ash.
The astral
rattle has
her, at last.
That's real —
Salt earth.
Salt Earth.

---

LAMENT FOR A CARVED WOODEN OWL (Petrarchan Sonnet)

A bitter scowl
upon its beak —
an inner shriek,
a buried howl —
this wooden owl,
its will is weak;
it cannot speak
a single vowel.
It makes no hoot
and draws no air,
so moot and mute —
its feathers bare,
its pain acute —
to wit: despair.

---

FAMINE MOON (Palindromic Ottava Rima)

No omen, I’m a foetal stone.
I die, null, at a fate lit far —
die raw, one loss, Selene resewn
on woe. We lord a memo, star
afar, at some mad role we own.
On, we, serene, less sole now are.
      I draft. I let a fatal lune.
      I die, not slate. O, famine moon!

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This final poem plays with mondegreens. The poem’s two stanzas employ different words but sound the same when read aloud:

REINTERPRETATIONS

Raze asunder witch or bible.
Right up, owe its poisoned presents 
withered armour. Mourn in gutters.
		Reinter predations.

Razors under which orb-eyeball
write a poet’s poise and presence?
With a dharma, morning utters
		reinterpretations.