Lee Jane Taylor’s writing explores the experience of illness and wellness, domesticity and nature, imagination and memory, with a view of the sky.
original poetry posted weekly
The sky is indifferent, the sky is kind
always reaching in, uninvited
with long white
cloudy fingers prising
open planks of sternum, one by one
chest rivets pop and sigh –
taste the silver and the blue
tints run, inking through time
eyes feather soft and wide
to gulls glide, natures guards
mount impartial in this space –
the sacred in between
stratosphere and ground
where
cumulus and stratus oversee proud
and free
as druids once served.
Climbing the lane together
September suppertime snuff
out of light children soon scatter
aggregate under foot rough
and reassuring on the steep way home.
Taste of shank and IPA lingers, oozes
a stolidity welcome to thighs and calves
tested in the press on up. Home –
is somewhere new now stashes a fizz
of disquiet about its comforts
glances measure the feel of seeing
‘is this ours’ and ‘are we its’ ask eyes,
furtive. Reaching the peak of the rise
a startle – unexpected dazzle
planets, moon, stars
rob blind breaths and hearts
in ink blots thoughts bloom
– Minoans and Myceneans
populating Greek Islands with dreams
of Olympus each night in astral robes
celestials bent close, beautiful and ruthless
– childhood holidays at beaches
bonfires and sand driftwood seats
night sky ceilings dwarfing oceans
potatoes blanketed in foil, us
in rugs, in salt and smoke all.
Arrive home to Wednesday evening
someplace new and strange and familiar
where people and dogs walk calm
through skies beguiled with eyes
open and legs strengthen fast
to tougher ground. At home amongst paths
of distant heroes and near stars
that blossom in darkness
and fork back, towards sandcastles.
Sky House Poetry 