Upstairs, my
moon-bright bed is lit
with frosty
questions on a silver sheet
I look up to
watch her beaming face;
lie down my
dreams in this sad place.
after Li Bai (701 – 762)
x.2017
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Captain Chaos
- Mark Cassidy
- A Brummie by birth (part of the Irish diaspora), I did much of my growing up on the Isle of Wight. Returning to Birmingham to study, I discovered many diversions, notably punk music and politics. I've written poetry intermittently for almost as long as I can remember; much of it best forgotten. But with persistence comes progress: a continuing journey reflected here. A few of these poems have surfaced elsewhere online; others have appeared in various European magazines, among them Dreich, Northwards Now, Poetry Salzburg Review, Pushing Out The Boat, South, Skylight 47 and ROPES. You’ll also find me in the anthologies This Island City: Portsmouth in Poetry, Poems for Grenfell Tower, Poems for the NHS, The Shouting Tories, Dungheap Cockerel, FLORA/FAUNA Volume One and Poetry Is Not Dead.
The original refers to homesickness; I have tried to make other meanings available.
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