Ross Mackay


Best Poem of Ross Mackay

There Be, There Be

The shimmer of the morning cold
seemed to stroke its fingers across
my late morning dream.
You turned towards me,
a smile pressed the fontanelle
of my lucid vulnerability.
Languid, the chill of the outside
rippled through the windows
whilst I lay most content.
The halls were golden,
there was a swimming pool,
as I remember.
There you lay between a mirror
and the orchestra played Greensleeves.
You had turned away to face me
and smiled through me at first.
Your skin was golden
and the hall smelled sweet of summer.
I felt the touch of ...

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The Field At Night

To the field at night,
yellow crisp moon dips its paintbrush,
into the tar sea of grass.
Sombre spectre in woe,
banging the gates at the bottom pasture,
drying her eyes on white.
Glow of floating dust,
tempting strangers from the path,
to be lost to the dark.

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