Saturday, 9 January 2010

Retrospective (after Tracey Emin)

A white road,
caked in magneta neon,
disappears like a curse trailing off.

You feel a tenor sax
course into your legs, your arms
and fingertips stretching away.

The fields echo with frost;
the sky entreats your biddable eyes
the whole sharp night.

2 comments:

Alan Summers said...

I love what Pascale has brought out of you.

It might not be long before you can consider submitting for the Crashaw Prize, a nice target to aim for! ;-)

Loved the whole poem, with favourite lines:

disappears like a curse trailing off

You feel a tenor sax
course into your legs,


The fields echo with frost


Alan
Alan’s Area 17 blog
.

Matthew Paul said...

Thanks, Alan - very kind of you. Pascale's courses are always really good for thinking about writing in different ways. Got another one starting next month - should be good, as ever.