Mantz Yorke lives in Manchester, England. His poems have appeared in a number of print magazines, anthologies and e-magazines in the UK, Ireland, Canada, the US and Hong Kong. Germination The air is tense: electric charges in cloud and ground strain to fuse till fingers reach out, touch, lightning strikes and rain drenches the parched land. The shrivelled seed swells, bursts, thrusts its root into the wetted earth. Shell Beach, Western Australia Ruffled, the sea has swilled away half of the initials and the heart carefully embossed at the edge of the long white cockleshell beach. Is N loved by F or E? I can’t tell, nor will anyone crunching after me across these shells. Ridges above tell of the reconstructive power lurking in the sea, giving no chance this half-affiance will survive. Reverie From a balding tree a slender leaf, its weak grip broken by thundery drops, splats flat on the gutter’s spate and glides towards me. I imagine a Viking longship sailing past grey-faced cliffs, bearing some chieftain’s body to its immolation on a distant strand … Her bright red boots come splashing up the street: the ship is gone, crushed beneath her feet. Silver Birch In the morning sun, gold spangles shimmering against a dark grey sky. Half-stripped now, the weeping tree is once again betraying its infirmity – the arthritic burls that have blackened its papery bark. A storm is on the way. Soon the leaves will be whipped from filigree twigs to clog the drains: puddles will spread across the road till the rain eases and they seep away. The naked tree will have to shiver as it awaits a decency of snow. November As I read your text winter’s harbinger is etching in snow the secret furrows where streams once echoed the carelessness of love. Shivering alders, summer’s conspirators in intimacy, stand naked, their twigs a filigree against brindled hills. Icy gusts lash the beeches; russet leaves are tumbling down – the dying fall of remembrance.
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