Shey Marque



Out with Dorothy Porter, Looking for Myself

– and with a nod to Emily Dickinson i The rattle, the trees, that perfume, and blooms open up my throat, let the sweetness spill like sap on dust, on sun-warmed bark. Swaying seed pods click their small bones to …

Posted in 120: DIALOGUE | Tagged

Triptych with Oranges

i The valley cambered as much as hollowed between hills that let us come here as strangers dropping flesh around planted fields, a containment where the orchard coughed up oranges, forsaken fruit nobody picked. One by one they fell, each …

Posted in 109: NO THEME 12 | Tagged

Unpicking a Bird

To follow the wing of a herring gull is a meditation on balance an invisible string links lead weight to scale feather to foot to my eye the gull hops on one leg leans to the right extends a wing …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged

Neruda’s Sixteen Finches

It’s difficult to see the glass ceiling because it’s made of glass. Virtually invisible. What we need is for more birds to fly above it and shit all over it, so we can see it properly. ― Caitlin Moran Insanity. …

Posted in 66: OBSOLETE | Tagged