Your distal hair,
a matted weave, is carpet
glued to terracotta.
These pot-bond roots,
I tear them free. Consigning
ancient spines to compost.
vi. 2017
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.
I my loved my small cactus collection. The tall one - Lord Alf - had been with me since 1987 when I was Tennyson at Carisbrooke Castle, performing with a Welfare State International production.
ReplyDeleteBut they were considered too heavy and awkward to move house with us. I still feel guilty.