Angus of the Brugh by Grant Tarbard

Angus of the Brugh

Angus’ kisses turn
Into singing birds,
Cupid’s greeting cards
Turned into flesh and
Bone, a meal for the

Gods of ash and dirt.
All who hear are drawn
To the skin of the
Earth, to the father
Who plays the seasons

Like a harp. Angus,
God of youth, vigour
Grows in the song chimes
Of his skeleton,
The weeping is heard.


Grant Tarbard is widely published. His first pamphlet Yellow Wolf is out now from WK Press.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s