Eric Ratcliffe

Eric Ratcliffe Poems

Behind these yellow leaves I see the maiden of the moon's boat,
her smile straying, her light throat bent over the path of suffering.
Inside a convent of trees she rides, the Bride of my God,
floating a silver mile below her shining side,
...

In the essence between dragnet day;
in the peace betwen dwale and poplar;
in the twig and near holy things;
by Earth's deep sluices, in enormity
...

Long, long ago, before the puffin swam,
neither sun nor sail bewildered those
who, simple in their sleep, walked to a day
of golden trees and apples in the air,
...

A low arrow, I search the land
for her silver feet moving leaves
as she follows through spiced fields,
runs, or turns to a bird cry.
...

Thought was almost a wave-form,
an elusive violet
beamed from internal antennae;
western truths were without substance.
...

The old carrier wind has passed the bushes,
iridescent, set rare as pagan brooches
firm in the dress of the blonde moonfield
glinting with night jewels like a crescent,
...

Under star-clusters in the shell night
my gypsy god is riding in silver
over white auras of sleeping girls
and brown boys, charmed to awake
...

Uplever her night bones slowly,
expose them to lightning flash;
trowel her maid crystals gently,
under the burial ash.
...

Young and pale her dreaming face,
seeing through her sleeping hands
a fine running singing man,
firm legs over the southlands,
...

High wings over the fox ferns
from meres of the morning star
in a singing brown man's dawn,
gods of six golden suns
...

Like a live signal, a poet should compress her
into a star-cluster in some constellation
for Shaw to admire - for this is another Eliza,
brash, honey-haired, a tawny thruster
...

Your copper hair gew slowly like coral
as rock-light awoke your body to glory
to walk one-hip-high through tropical nights
with eyes slanting wild harmony;
...

Was the cave sweet at the end, Eucia?
Come, naked-on-moss, little one,
white and marine, to the cirque of your father.
...

Her beating heart in atoms lies,
so freedom lives when freedom dies.
When moment cannot lengthen day
the pastel flesh must fade away
...

O naked river spy,
iron in your singing voice,
watching a Dover bird hovering,
rising from your skins,
...

What early earth faith was perpetuated
in states of green, hand on tree bole,
the simple touch of foot upon the ground?
...

The five-age walls feel the wind from blue waters
overhung in the cool witch-chimney,
and the ghost heart of a summer wife, waking,
has recalled the sleepy fables
...

18.

The night has grown with the stars
and, lke the willow children
of the Catuvellauni
who rested their faces
...

Shuffling shadows of fire fingers
torchlit, scribing picture magic on stone pages;
caveborn children, naked, squatting,
watching the advent of wall-sacred art
...

Wave tops like running diamonds
arise, break down, arise again.
The waters of dream bays of history
undulate with warrior pieces,
...

Eric Ratcliffe Biography

educated Kingston Grammar School and Birkbeck College. Career as bench and information scientist (list of papers is in website below) . World War 2 service London Blitz assisting removal of unexploded AA shells; and India as ammunition examiner. Discharged end of war as Warrant Officer Class 1. Founded and edited poetry magazine Ore for 4 decades (see my website for history of Ore) . Divorced. One daughter, who died in her thirties, International (though not well known) poet. Reviews for New Hope International, England.)

The Best Poem Of Eric Ratcliffe

The Maiden Of The Moon's Boat

Behind these yellow leaves I see the maiden of the moon's boat,
her smile straying, her light throat bent over the path of suffering.
Inside a convent of trees she rides, the Bride of my God,
floating a silver mile below her shining side,
as I, like these many branches, open my heart to her.

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