What He Would Do With A Walled Garden

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Gram Joel Davies is a poet in Devon. His collection Bolt Down This Earth (V. Press) was published in 2017. It’s been a while, but he is getting back into writing after training as a counsellor. A recent poem in The Moth marked his return.

Madeline in Bubbles, Rising

I wanted madness to explain you,
not crafted mascara and perfume
to force me from the crowded bar.

Your blisters, us hitchhiking
into a sandy city. You said my offer
to carry you just made you inhumane.

I saved one bar of Green & Blacks
all night. You loved me in pieces.

Under a snowfield of Guinness glass,
I found you in the roots of tables.

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Gram Joel Davies is a poet in Devon. His collection Bolt Down This Earth (V. Press) was published in 2017. It’s been a while, but he is getting back into writing after training as a counsellor. A recent poem in The Moth marked his return.

Sophia is Out of My League

I arrived at university but found
the glass had someone’s lips on the brim.

The wine-list was unreachable.
I smuggled the crystal-ware home

and tried to fit a kiss
where she had been.

Although I eavesdrop on tables
I can’t ask her back for discourse.

My shelves have dusty techno
and Dungeons & Dragons figurines.

I should have turned my body
through the sharpener

not learned to hold smoke.
Asthmatic exhalations

rehash my parents’
rejection of right-to-buy.

I turn to say something with shreds
of last year’s set text in my teeth.

..

Gram Joel Davies is a poet in Devon. His collection Bolt Down This Earth (V. Press) was publihsed in 2017. It’s been a while, but he is getting back into writing after training as a counsellor. A recent poem in The Moth marked his return.

These Threads are the Singing

Your body becomes a tongue
when rain falls, arms agape
you taste popping candy droplets,
a topical confection. Rain to skin
is light to eyes, you see
with every pore. Rain beats

at downed leaves and sagging
blades, thrashes twigs to pulp
and saturates bark till each surrenders
Assam swirls, tendrils of clove,
and fingers of crushed rosemary:
lizard-licks to your nostrils.

The wept joys of reunion, rivulets
pour, wrap seams, silver-cocoon
your limbs and neck, charge you
like coalesced lightning.
These threads are the singing
of nerves. When rain falls,

every puddle, every street lamp,
every windowed eave disintegrates
into a scintillating dance of atoms,
the world is microscopically undone
but remade. Every ricocheting drop
pounds its bass-pulse in your ears,
unabating arteries, thudding womb.

You breathe like rain, open arms
and legs and mouth and skin
to rain – the curse of being
melts from you in torrents –
you become again the stuff
of motion, surfs and plasmic
hearts of solar systems. Suns.

 

Gram Joel Davies lives in Devon. His collection Bolt Down This Earth is published by V. Press. See http://gramjoeldavies.uk to find out more.