The King From The Car Park, Richard Iii Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The nesting birds in the bitter sun
Are remote in time and space
From the life of this crook-backed king

Shadows from his mediaeval reign
Breed mysteries, modern conspiracy theories

Wounds are stamped
On his body’s bony scaffold
With its jaw in a silent yell
Words spilled out in the soil
Of the intervening centuries

In the grounds of Leicester Cathedral
A thrush shatters the frail armour
Of a snail. Somewhere, a mute swan’s gliding

Scandal’s been dragged through the mud
For a second telling
The dead have no right of reply

Remember this, both lilac and laburnum
Like kings, have a limited flowering
Their scent lingers a little
The air moves on