“The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”
- from Milton’s Paradise Lost
metres meet
across this field
the plough has shared its sheen
with the smooth-cut planes
on these dark clods of clay
community & form
take the bucket away
and soon the sand
falls apart
sandstone takes
thousands of years
to form and then
is prone to erode
whereas glass
is made in no time
at all
a subtle line
often there’s a thin line
between poems being so subtle
that most don’t notice their subtleties,
and there being little to notice at all
and most noticing
and saying nothing
markings on a polished pebble
signs of having fallen
at speed
through our atmosphere
and/or
small fossilised columns
of coral
running through
it and down its sides
Tristan Moss has had many poems published in online and paper journals. Most recently he has had poems published in Litter Magazine. Last year, he published a pamphlet called 'Ligaments' with The Red Ceilings Press.