Selected poems by Mark Cartile
In the Distance
As a third cloud formed above our heads,
each one's shadow cast upon the other in a hierarchy of altitudes
we clasped our frozen hands
and funnelled the rain through our arms
Pools of water gathered at our feet and grew
In the distance
the circumferential horizon contracted
revealing clusters of symbols
carved out of earth, sun, moon,
water and bone
Rattles, reeds, hides and clubs
hung from branches just above our reach
the presence of which evoked soothing sounds
and corporeal rhythms
warming our hands
and reminding us of our providential birth
Beneath us, rocks rose from the surface
lifting us beyond the watermark
from where floods recede in Spring
The fear subsided
The sky opened
embraced us
and only the backs of our necks
could sense what was beyond.
Through Black Water Fury
Through black water fury
the stone sinks always deeper
receding past the memory
of what holds things together
as we pull ourselves apart
Its girth defined
by the hand that threw it
with an intent disarmed
by the aching beauty of loss.
We bathe in this pool
drink from its source
kiss the flooded shores of its reach
knowing in our bones their longing for warmth and mercy
We are of this place
of clay, of skin and scales
Flight
With both arms
reaching painfully close
to the boundaries of a thought
Singular and ancient
Preceded only
by the hallowed anchored branch
sullen carrier of heads hung low
where once sung
and will sing again
the to and fro
of children
discovering flight
Six Last Steps
Six last steps
Painfully brittle to bone
bloody to bear and crimson to touch
Hungered, withered and torn.
Whose fetch twists hurdled twine
thorned at root
slight with grasp
slipping from fall
From whispers, from screams
echoed at night
the darkened cloth
dropped from high
reaching warmly
Swallowing the votive lovelings.
The Gift
What seed rests behind the glyph
or in the gestured crowd
all quiet through the daily take
off the cuff it flies
Cursed, it spoils the winter broth
where hunger stalks the still
the numb, the dazed, the underwhelmed
the loaf of bread and the ripest plum
This fruit to bare the softest word
a branch to breach the molten crust
with anchored roots in the songs of hope
in trust an oath that mends the cloth
The weave that catches the finest dust
and keeps us warm with the swaddled touch
of fingers reaching through the glass
extending inwards beyond the known
with hoe and axe
pick and shovel
for clearing the space required to grow
the patient soil of the deepest hue
calls us forth to receive its gift.
This Hallowed Cube
This hallowed cube
crystalline from inception
gently nudging the emplacement of stars
Its shadow anchored in the memory
of a disfigured moon
forgotten
yet not born of a history
dreamt up over merging continents
with vessels adrift between earth and sky
Umber oxen bringing forth tomorrow's harvest
The rhythm of their breath revealed in the gentle sway
of one thousand flowers
we have offered along the way
Pollen beneath their hooves
thrust into the ground with each step
Cylindrical vaults of unknowable possibilities
flowers yet to be
and food for the tiniest of giants
Within days
rainwater will fill these holes
and create oceans to live by
and there
we will build a fire
to warm our hands and feet
and we will sleep
until it is no longer safe.
As a third cloud formed above our heads,
each one's shadow cast upon the other in a hierarchy of altitudes
we clasped our frozen hands
and funnelled the rain through our arms
Pools of water gathered at our feet and grew
In the distance
the circumferential horizon contracted
revealing clusters of symbols
carved out of earth, sun, moon,
water and bone
Rattles, reeds, hides and clubs
hung from branches just above our reach
the presence of which evoked soothing sounds
and corporeal rhythms
warming our hands
and reminding us of our providential birth
Beneath us, rocks rose from the surface
lifting us beyond the watermark
from where floods recede in Spring
The fear subsided
The sky opened
embraced us
and only the backs of our necks
could sense what was beyond.
Through Black Water Fury
Through black water fury
the stone sinks always deeper
receding past the memory
of what holds things together
as we pull ourselves apart
Its girth defined
by the hand that threw it
with an intent disarmed
by the aching beauty of loss.
We bathe in this pool
drink from its source
kiss the flooded shores of its reach
knowing in our bones their longing for warmth and mercy
We are of this place
of clay, of skin and scales
Flight
With both arms
reaching painfully close
to the boundaries of a thought
Singular and ancient
Preceded only
by the hallowed anchored branch
sullen carrier of heads hung low
where once sung
and will sing again
the to and fro
of children
discovering flight
Six Last Steps
Six last steps
Painfully brittle to bone
bloody to bear and crimson to touch
Hungered, withered and torn.
Whose fetch twists hurdled twine
thorned at root
slight with grasp
slipping from fall
From whispers, from screams
echoed at night
the darkened cloth
dropped from high
reaching warmly
Swallowing the votive lovelings.
The Gift
What seed rests behind the glyph
or in the gestured crowd
all quiet through the daily take
off the cuff it flies
Cursed, it spoils the winter broth
where hunger stalks the still
the numb, the dazed, the underwhelmed
the loaf of bread and the ripest plum
This fruit to bare the softest word
a branch to breach the molten crust
with anchored roots in the songs of hope
in trust an oath that mends the cloth
The weave that catches the finest dust
and keeps us warm with the swaddled touch
of fingers reaching through the glass
extending inwards beyond the known
with hoe and axe
pick and shovel
for clearing the space required to grow
the patient soil of the deepest hue
calls us forth to receive its gift.
This Hallowed Cube
This hallowed cube
crystalline from inception
gently nudging the emplacement of stars
Its shadow anchored in the memory
of a disfigured moon
forgotten
yet not born of a history
dreamt up over merging continents
with vessels adrift between earth and sky
Umber oxen bringing forth tomorrow's harvest
The rhythm of their breath revealed in the gentle sway
of one thousand flowers
we have offered along the way
Pollen beneath their hooves
thrust into the ground with each step
Cylindrical vaults of unknowable possibilities
flowers yet to be
and food for the tiniest of giants
Within days
rainwater will fill these holes
and create oceans to live by
and there
we will build a fire
to warm our hands and feet
and we will sleep
until it is no longer safe.