Rebirth

Anger drives me forward, through the heavy pelt
of the aiming rain, the pat and thud of drought-end,
my friend has bought a new close to me home
planning times we will share, the earth needed this
the ground-cracks disappear, flowers present their faces
trees offer branches and leaf lick air, since the rents rose
every penny has pinched and accounts murk my mind,
the toads from the river look up in quiet awe
at the river falling, 'Aren't you buying Rory's house?'
she decides I'm being rhetorical, a brief silence,
their tiny babies jump high as fleas in the undergrowth
it seems that mud is flying, when the prices increased
Rory's landlord chose to sell his modest dwelling,
the river roars over stones, once still and placid
like our friendship, surrounded by redevelopers
turn a rundown district rich, replace us with money
I may have some moving news soon, nodding politely
a fallow common sparrow hops along a glistening wire
opens a black angle beak, it's called gentrification
feels like evisceration, I'm cod-gutted deboned,
a short coarse song lulls the leaking clouds above
I remember long walks together, small adventures
with a sigh, for it will sting, I consider phoning her.

 

 

The Call of Death

Let me enter velvet death,
                                dance towards its brawl and call.

Over his dying stage kicks a can of glinting showgirls
suffused in the summer rays of bubblegum holidays.
Revolving smiles spin across the crimson curtains.
Heeled feet covered in sequined leather, fling puffs
of sawdust residue onto a queue of laps
                                  wearing dandy top hats, their
knees circling rows of polished mahogany and brass.
Absinthe flame heats cold air into steam fog, crashing
ships of conversation into other drifting conversation.
Pipe ash sprinkles over blazing coral reef fires.
Flagons of ferment line the bar for free
                                         elbows lift and rise in time
with the side to side thrust of Hawaiian hip lust.
Jutting bone hits twirling semi-quavers seen
through a smoke filled lair of rainbow strobe air.
Torment killing Latin pills shine like glitter balls.
Poppies open in the raw dawning of opal morning,
close as the graves of wine soak night into the sky.

Drape its blood diamonds around my choked throat.
Pull me in, up and under to its soft opium home
and candle lit birthday cake, sugar iced to read,
surrender, surrender, surrender here to me.

 

 

Far Mountain Hike

Cosmos pollen loosens over trail shoes,
spitfire dragonflies fan the tongues ridge,
dust covered with the needle pinned path,
sole dyed with the green of smear grass.

Zoetic forest, air licked by lizards
ferns coated with insect fur,
drowning in cuckoo calls and
ogling frogs dropping bulbous lids.

Farmed fields sooth the calm base,
tadpole pools cool rough tufts of shoot,
wish stone stacks grow as if sown.
Fossil rocks are blighted by dry beds.

Amid the wood, shrines are sprinkled.
Hangul curves carve the granite.
Monk bones fill the domed hummocks.
Bamboo thrums through the echo.

Crawl and walk of splintered beauty,
the ripple of the snakes winding slither,
undulating caterpillars,
the flop hop of a scared hare.

A mosquito sting itches and weeps,
reed plants dance beneath the peaks bees.
My awe grows like rice in water,
pine cone scent rests on my nose

 

 

 

 

Elle Pryor is based in Florida and is a graduate of the University of Wales. She is published or will be published in South Jersey Underground, Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal, Black Lantern Publishing, (A Brilliant) Record Magazine, Crows Nest, Pens on Fire and Kerouac’s Dog. Two of her short stories are included in the anthologies ‘Dusted’ and ‘Caught by Darkness’.