The Secret Garden

This poem was published in ‘The Black Poppy Review’, last September. BPR has now closed the gates and the ravens have flown, so I thought I’d put it up on here. My poetry patch has lain fallow recently and I hope to plant a new crop soon 🙂



patchy–a garden of eden

stalled, soft hollows

promise nothing of gold captured,

where once lush grass


coaxed crimson beads from tender flesh,

now a wilderness choked

with the rattle of dead things,

brooded over by man and beast,

appetite bred out of them,

staring ahead,

abandoning their quest for

a thin seam of rapture

buried deep inside this pasture churned

over, vessels and broken ends

lying side by side in counterfeit bliss,

ripped along silk of longing–

returning to that first kiss,

the seed of everything that comes after.

And when the day fades

casting a steepled shadow

over the unrecognisable leaves

and an acorn escapes the rake’s teeth,

coddle it like a small flame,

watch it leap and dance,

then plant it at your feet,

before the head gardener brings

his empty barrow

to take away the tools.


The Secret Garden

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