Philip Dunkerley is an active member of open mic communities in the South Lincolnshire area. The former representative of the Stamford Stanza, he runs a U3A Poetry Group in Bourne, where he lives. His poems have been published in Impspired, Poetry Salzburg Review, Acumen, Magma, Orbis and elsewhere and his poetry translations from Portuguese and Spanish, and poetry reviews, have appeared in Dream Catcher, Acumen and Orbis.

Doggerland

We are rushing along over a lost land,
hastening towards our destination.
If the gods of earth, sea and air allow,
we shall arrive tomorrow morning.

No-one looks down. Why should we?
There is only black water to be seen. 
But someone knows what’s there,
in the eye of the mind, time gone.

We are on cruise control. The sun
is starting to set. We maintain
an exact altitude. Below, mammoths
in groups roam, unseen, unseeing.

They do not look up as we pass.
Why should they? We are not here.
It is green, it is summer, the animals
wander at will, there is plenty.

Passing, they mark the landscape.
Soon they will leave their corpses;
when we come we shall find them,
and marvel. We do not come yet.

In the Park of My Mind

—Goiânia, Brazil

We went, granddaughter and I, 
on a slow afternoon, to the park. 
Not much of a park, perhaps,
but somewhere to go.

Two steel seesaws, and two
small swings, we tried them all,
fun, of a kind, on a slow afternoon, 
for a girl and a man.

One swing creaked, just the one. 
Why? she wanted to know.
Because it needs oiling, I said,
we can oil it tomorrow.

We never went back. 
I’m still here but she’s gone,
and in the park of my mind
the creak of the swing goes on.

Dog Days

July is such a nothing month. We know
that July days still are long and bright,
but the equinox has gone and although
the sun sets late there’s a change of light.

As the day’s length wanes, plants in flow,
sensing that things are on the turn,
hesitate, the sap pauses, starts to go
into reverse. Green leaves begin to burn

to yellow, brown and gold. Farmers prepare
for the frantic harvest rush. Holidays
from school, people get away to anywhere,
the silly season, the doldrums, dog days.

    In July, summer’s suddenly on hold.
    Uneasy hints of coming dark and cold.