Guy Northam

Guy Northam Poems

In the ice hall
We cannot talk
For water drips
Around our ears;

It is not something we can help;
We have met,
And, virtually
Together we are virtually apart;

In the gloaming, I am the shaven
Man, misboarded and trammeled
At my Lord's High Table;
I am His, a renounceful creature,

My pale blue fingers cannot grasp
The coolness of my soul
Or hold the gut feeling I have
For you. They cannot trace

An unrepentant
Pagan symbol echoing
In our memory.

Montparnasse, the bohemian quarter;
Its roofs like metal sheets;
The heavy rain falling.

A kestrel, hovering, wing-beats
Above the earth -
Touch it! Touch it! The intangible -
When it falls, there is death

Two days ago, I found you dead
On the roadside.
In my absence you have grown lean;
You have become shrunken, your feathers

Momentarily, I had your trust;
Your spasms of death were dying.
A blunt, bloodied head
Rested on my fingertips;


Two feet long in an arrogant display
Of thin-headed violence;
Unmoved by life or mercy, but purely
Predatory, static and waiting for the kill.

Wild Clematis - the name keeps
Slipping out of memory;
It is fixed now as an old man's beard
Bedraggled like a toothless grin.

Your autumn fruits shone
A sudden locality
And my pace slackened.


Suddenly, the world erupted into violence
And the cries of pain were loud.

Abomination followed Tyranny

You were like a bee,
Like a very large bee,
Humming in my hand.


T'is Somebody, a Cyclops,
Waiting for something big to happen.

The Best Poem Of Guy Northam


Pebbles rolled round; flung
Back to the grinding ocean;
Pushed forward once more.

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