A few more bones

A few more bones

without apology, I enjoy bones. I have a pile of skulls, shells and bones in the living room complete with festive toadstools and twinkly lights (is it any wonder I live alone with axolotls and fish?)

And with Bone Detectives brewing, I've dug out a couple of ol' bone poems. Enjoy, dismiss or ignore, it's your choice

SOCKET

The sweep of the sky,
The rain's bow,
The curl of a wave,
The sand's dune,
All contained in
The scoop of an eye's socket,
And the bowl of a skull.
A world cradled in
My electric palms

first published in Old stones and ancient bones: poems from the hollow hills, by Gordon Maclellan (me!)


and here is The Bone Pit, written as part of a narrative poem for Buxton Museum's Wonders of the Peak audio trail

THE BONE PIT

A drumming thunder of running hooves, a racing sweep over the hilltops.

Steaming breath, rolling eyes, the wind flare of mane.

The heart beats quicker, hooves before paws, before claws, before teeth.

         Remember those who have gone.

         Bone upon bone,

         Rattle and fall,

         Tooth and horn,

         Fang and jaw,

         Warm flesh, fur and feather all grow cold

         Together in the bone-pit darkness

And wait.

Wait for a pick, for a shovel and a gentle touch

To lift the darkness of 10,000 years.

10,000 years is not so long.

We can look up and out, beyond these Buxton walls

And see the hills the old animals saw.

The folded dales may remember them yet and

All those we have lost may

Still walk in the dreams the land is dreaming.

         Aurochs, giant deer, bear, lion, and mastodon,

         Remember those who have gone.

         Bone upon bone,

         Rattle and fall,

         Tooth and horn,

         Fang and jaw,

         Warm flesh, fur and feather all grow cold

         Together in the bone-pit darkness