Perfect

Poem By Emmanuel Caballero

I found a pigeon's skull on the machair,
All the bones pure white and dry, and chalky,
But perfect,
Without a crack or a flaw anywhere.
At the back, rising out of the beak,
Were domes like bubbles of thin bone,
Almost transparent, where the brains had been
That fixed the tilt of the wings.


Hugh Mcdiarmid

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In Memory Of Myself

Simply to have stopped.

As if I could begin
where my voice has stopped, myself

In Laddery Street Herself

I am hands
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And feet
And things inside of me

She And I

She and I, we thought and fought
And each of us won by the other's defeat;
She and I, we danced and pranced
And lost by neglect the use of our feet;

Sunstruck Foxglove

As you bend to touch
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Who waits for you in the hedge
Her loose dress falls open.