Donate to support our work
From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold
Great grey belly porker,
toothy yawning slug,
Trees are good at what they do,
at being oak or beech or yew.
It tastes of high clouds
of crisp cold
the humble sock.
Even a sock that’s old
Shirley was six when her teeth started to fall out.
Her big brother, Ben, told her not to worry.
I remembered how I used to play with my mum.
As a kid, in the kitchen, we would bake together.
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
If you are very good I will give you:
A pillow of blue strawberries
A swimming pool of Haagen-Dasz
A mirror of imagination
A pocketful of yes’s
I saw three ships, three tall ships
Riding on the sea,
The waves quaked, and the fishes quaked,
And the wind sighed sorrowfully,
For on their decks, and in their holds,
If you open up my skull
You won’t see a brain in there,
underneath the skin and bone