Today we harvested
horseshoes
big as side-plates
fists of limestone
shards of tile
blue and white crockery
the bone handle
of an old eating knife
rusted bedsprings
a tortoiseshell barrette
and a tin of lead soldiers
dead Hussars
headless Dragoons
riding broken horses
You couldn’t plough them back
they wouldn’t fit
not even in your dreams
Published by colinhopkirk
Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.
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Colin Hopkirk Poetry 