Julian Mann Poems

I

What right have I under oak
To turn away a thought
...

Setting: February. Light-brushed woods. Lean sheep slopes.
Dry-mudded lanes; often running straight through woods
whimsically; or rising to walkways above the bright air.
Up here
...

The air is awash
With green tongues
Rising above a chainsaw,
As meditation shifts
...

An obscurer:
little shelf supporting vanity.
Inside, I kept for the first line
ideal and fancy
...

Of a Sunday's
secrecy:
my vision, distilled.
It is a task
...

What is this ruination: birds their song in a vacuum
of vented heating. Detached, the high-wrapped willow
and murky pane.
What's this tiled sky:
...

moments between
switching energy supplier
selling house
she curls up early
...