Loch Ordie - Poem by Garry Stanton
She is whirls, of
argent and raven,
she is pools of
where jagged pike,
honed abyssal arrows,
Stygian subterfuge, an
onyx underworld, as
midnight anglers (from another world)
attempt to pierce the
primeval meniscus. It is
from the cave.
O, She is Female! , moulding
herself into lichened glacial
and insisting upon the
inundation of the
inside this Man-poet.
she is, but deceptive: Muse-elemental.
October moon, lighted within by
blushing Tranquility, illuminates
tiny tragedies below, as forces
snagging on lines the necks of men,
dragged, snagged, under, as
across seething surfaces,
in their flight across
harrowed by ancient fear,
reaching far beyond
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