Heartwood by Lee Prosser


Gloom laden paths lay
Black tongues, black hearts
Caged within beech and birch
a cabin of bones awaited

The forest belongs to her each crow cried
Plants and life, suns and moons

As night slighted the dusk, she was waiting
Plans fell as leaves as she revealed:
Neither potions, nor spells but tinctures and salves
Beauty and radiance, flesh not bones

Stopped dead by a hush of her lips
Feeling her life as she pressed in, disarming
as I fell captive to her skin

How bright glows the night, when held tight as bark
An axe need not splinter, when given a key


Lee Prosser nestles himself in a West Wales village that avoided becoming a reservoir. He has had work accepted in Haiku Journal, Tanka Journal, Crowsfeet and in a forthcoming anthology by Forward Poetry. He regularly attends spoken word events in South and West Wales and is co-host and organiser of the Tin Plate Poets monthly music and spoken word event.

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