Molly Bloom 24
  • MOLLY BLOOM 24
  • ----------
  • Frances Presley
  • Elisabeth Bletsoe
  • Rachael Clyne
  • Harriet Tarlo
  • Helen Moore
  • L Kiew
  • Camilla Nelson
  • Tamar Yoseloff
  • Maria Jastrzębska
  • Lee Duggan
  • Geraldine Monk
  • Dorothy Lehane
  • Maria Stadnicka
  • ----------
  • Previously in Molly Bloom
  • Live readings
  • Submissions
  • Editor
  • MOLLY BLOOM 24
  • ----------
  • Frances Presley
  • Elisabeth Bletsoe
  • Rachael Clyne
  • Harriet Tarlo
  • Helen Moore
  • L Kiew
  • Camilla Nelson
  • Tamar Yoseloff
  • Maria Jastrzębska
  • Lee Duggan
  • Geraldine Monk
  • Dorothy Lehane
  • Maria Stadnicka
  • ----------
  • Previously in Molly Bloom
  • Live readings
  • Submissions
  • Editor
  Molly Bloom 24

Rachael Clyne

THIS WIND
 
rips         through routines
flays skin                      flings
              a watering can across                the garden               
of my mind             its clatter                            
  nags nerves        seeks the tiniest
  crack          throws up what’s hidden
             untethers grief               loosens
my veneer        rattles the
       rawness     in my chest
  taunts my                    isolation
kills thinking      with constant whine                            
     its tin drum          bangs against my frustration              
                              spins me into
         a cringing creature             bleating mercy
with paws over ears       to stop
 it penetrating
I am an animal               that thrives
    in warmth   perhaps a stir                             
  of breeze in heat,
     not this
        howling.
 
 
 
 
 
TODAY THE LIGHT
on Shapwick Heath
 
flecked  with  diamonds  how it
  dapples      the green    then pools
slices through gaps   silhouetted by
  branch-fretwork      it pirouettes
 skips    over willow leaves     the ecstasy of
   summer    unleashed    without us
 a fledgling    hops up a branch    curious
 to taste    sallow seeds     fluffy as itself
  blown  catkins   carpet the still dark
   of peaty water   crisscrossed by
  leafy   peepholes   to   a daze of blue
and a lake     mazed  with     yellow lilies
 breeze tips corners of    lily pads    reveals
  pale undersides   like promises   scattered
    on leaves  in song of chaffinch
         cetti’s warbler    calling in    life
                I too find myself
                      newly-fledged
 
 
 
 
WHEN THE CROWS DISAPPEARED
 
The first time I noticed the ash
was no longer decked with cronky shapes

perched atop-a-tree, like they do–
or did, I said to myself, Cor, stone the …
 
The tree was silent. It always held several,
squabbling over crusts, beaked from lawns.
Now even fat gobby woodpigeons,
scorn the bread, let it lie.

 
When we realised the crows had gone,
we knew without doubt

we were maggots in thrall
to shopping malls and shysters.
 
We knew we must grow
feathers, beaks and shape up,
or the eyes of the dead
would never close.
© Copyright Rachael Clyne 2021

Rachael Clyne, a psychotherapist from Glastonbury, is published in journals and anthologies. Her prizewinning collection Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams) concerns our relationship with nature and she is a climate activist. Her pamphlet Girl Golem (4word) concerns her migrant background and sense of otherness. 
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