Linnet Phoenix is a poet based in Bristol in the South West of England. She has been writing poetry for years. She also enjoys riding her Icelandic horse in the countryside.
Whose headroom was it? The wooden floorboards soaked with sunbeams leaning through an open window, giving the room an amber anticipation hue. The bed stood solitary. A room so sparsely furnished it wept. On white cotton bed linen words softly spoken. Blue skies watched with questioning eyes when the silk skin curtain cushioned inside. Yesterday we wrecked it. Tearing up the verbs like we were immortal, stripping away any extraneous strands. Those painful moments sugar sweetened. Throat stroked words whispered softly. Accelerated brain storm swirled faster, eyes closed, nose to nose, pages fluttered. Today the page is torn away, blank again. I wait for the empty moon to shine songs without you.
We have ridden this loop more times than the death toll daily update that persists in invading my phone. We are alone on this home straight. Only the sounds of your four-track gait, the occasional scrape of steel on tarmac. The song of a solo blackbird sits proud in full view of the late afternoon sun. The pair of buzzards airborne, battle a raven high above the river dell bottom of those cool dark woods. The stillness is broken by a warm blustery breeze, which will not let our hair be still in this near quiet. Like my mind which is ruffled by you. My eyes are drawn skywards to see the emptiness. The blue interchanging with white and grubby shadowed clouds is void of a single aeroplane. How I wish I could spot just one transatlantic flight, skimming overhead. Heathrow to who knows where, without a care for those left wondering below. Driving home I see the moon lounging in yesterday's nightwear. Why should she care when everyone is staying home. When nobody is going anywhere soon.
Dionysius’s Daytime Drinker
Oh Dennis, you dirty drunken old bastard. You should have stayed skulking state-side and drowning your sorrows in Sauvignon. In you came blustering and blasphemous. You kicked over conspiracies committed, fake news long fled a shagged shore. What's more, we no longer cared, your airs tore tears blinding, brought on street lamps, a midday massacre, piss stained road spray.
One thought on “Linnet Phoenix”
I love the Empty Skies, both your poem and the fact …