Shadows the shape of islands paraphrase
White racing clouds. Dragonflies dart and climb
In mail of lapis lazuli and lime,
While gardeners watch a heaped-up bonfire blaze,
Joggers raise dust on ancient public ways
And pheasants flee a tractor just in time.
Pointillist light-cells in the River Glyme
Dazzle then melt into the Great Lake’s glaze,
But the first Duke upon his victory column,
Though streaked by lumpen pigeons easily rising,
Surveys his fields and famous draughty Palace,
His fist upraised, hip jutting, camply solemn,
High above waving elms, as if despising
Nature with madly towering rabid malice.
Kieron Winn’s first collection of poetry, The Mortal Man, was published in 2015 by Howtown Press.
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This article appears in the 07 Feb 2018 issue of the New Statesman, The new age of rivalry