Tuesday, 20 September 2016

Matryoshka Poetry Volume One

Over the past few weeks, I've been finalising the first Matryoshka poetry magazine and now that it is finished and sitting pretty on matryoshkapoetry.com web page I'm going to add a link here.... just because I'm so proud of all those who contributed.



Your rattle,
   a porcupine prickle
    transformed  to  sound,
     sends the world a warning to be-
      ware. You caress the ground, secretly
           stealing colour and earthy patina to polish 
               your scales. Unsuspecting travellers find spec-
                        tral skin you slough pinned to sharp stuff,
                       like serpent husks or discarded clothing left
                     out, drying. It is a sneaky snake, conceit,
              that makes even reasonable people a n g r y.
         One night, a mustachioed explorer in a natty
        pith helmet approached while you slept,
      bringing a bomb of condensed hatred.
     It exploded, ripping you apart
    to fall like sherbet bits
   that f i z z  e d
  as they
h  i   t
the ground.
Cursed by God and man
  to fashion deserts and shorelines,
    you slither at night, or when receding
       tides give traction, in an endless task that
          lasts even after death - ghost snakes taking
         up the action. The spectral serpents slither on
         beaches, when the muddied boundaries between
         wet and dry form rivulets and r u n n e l s   of
       serpentine creations, and casts.
    Unrecognized by crafts-
 men you rise on the
breeze, glimpsed
briefly l e v -
i t a t i n g
inches above
  your handiwork.
   Hardy beachcombers, who
    deny your snaky interventions,
       daring to say it’s a phenomenon of wave
         action, are coiled about on breezes salted
             with snake tears, their skin chaffed with 
                bitter disdain and calling-cards of sloughed
                   scales and sand particles.    You leave
                      yourself embedded in human skin,
                          a temporary reminder of hom-
                            inid stupidity and your
                                   obvious, sinuous


                                   Karen Barton

first published in Matryoshka Poetry Vol. 1

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