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Four Poems by John Grey

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Four Poems by John Grey: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa and California Quarterly..
Early Morning on the Farm
Fog shrouds the farm.
Horses in the far field
are like a mirage -
some snow,
grizzled gray trees,
the frozen snort
of a stallion -
it doesn't take much to blur.

Jane's on her way
to the chicken coop.
A flake
lands on her cheek,
a cold, damp, wake-up.

The world is in-between.
The wind is strangely warm.
The coop wire chills.
She's sixteen -
the child, the woman,
more mirages
for uncertain vision.

Hens scatter at her approach.
The rooster rears its comb and crows -
wattles flap, brown feathers flutter,
the day's first certainty.
A Farmer Dreams
Rain-splitter shares dreams with
cool fingered splendor,
one vagueness splattering the roof,
the other touching his hard skin tender.

One moment, he's young enough
for the thrums of memory,
the woman beside him,
shedding years like undergarments.
Then he's land, groggy from drought appeased,
trickles in cracks, floods in crannies,
dust sweetly laid, mud dripping from his thoughts.

He's half awake. His wife is snoring.
He can't wait to get out on the land again.
There's been a shift in pleasure
Life of the Amish Farmer
Humidity overheats
and bursts like a boil.
Heavy thunder, hail,
torrential rain and cooling.
The Milky Way drawn
by a single farm light
dangles out of the black.
By day, tobacco bends to the harvest.
The corn is holding green.
Esther and Daniel are blessed
with a new arrival, Lena.
The burial service for Lydia Yoder
is at 2.00 A.M.

We begin with the weather,
simple thrumming heartbeat.
Then, drawn to the sky,
witness our faith
awakened by its symbols.
The work, of course, is our Gelassenheit,
our sweaty submission,
a God tutoring to muscle,
to heavy footprints in the earth
and head bent low.

In practical epiphany,
the corn fields bind the air we breathe
like veins.
The child is born,
ripens everything.
An old woman dies
so crops won't have to.
Jenna on the Farm
Her face is still smooth
despite the long days in the sun.
The skin below her eyes
has cracked like land in drought
but the cheeks are fine as sand,
brown with just a trace of red
and the lips are unlined,
from years of more doing than talking.
Only the eyes
say the work was hard and wearying.
The back is ironing-board straight
and the neck high and proud,
but the eyes, once again,
a pale and bruised green,
speak the language
of bending and scouring and digging.
Maybe she looked in the mirror one time
and it was all too beautiful
for what her eyes were telling her.
Or maybe it was all like the eyes
and the rest had nowhere else to turn
but lovely.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and  “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa and California Quarterly..

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If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.

blog, Poetry

“Imbolic” Poem by Sinead McGuigan

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Sinead Mcguigan, a poet and psychology graduate from University College Dublin Ireland writes poetry that explores the human condition and the deepest emotions connected to experience.  Sinead wrote her first solo collection A Gift and a Curse while recovering from cancer; her new book Unbound is also available on Amazon. Sinead's  main interests are travel concerts and art. She often collaborates with artists and have appeared alongside their work in many publications. You can find her work @sineadmcgpoetry on Instagram and Facebook. 
She shreds her flesh 
to offer it to the moon 
She offers peace 
as darkness leaves 
spring scatters magic seeds 
to the festival of the imbolc 
she is no longer a slave 
to the underworld 
stretches through the earth 
giving women fertility 
in a promised land 
She holds charms of the divine
glittering gold in their wombs 
holy wells filling dead eyes 
with unrest 
dazzled by the moon 
she weaves freedom into the 
heart of every woman 
She is a goddess of grace and beauty 
She is a goddess of poetry

Sinead Mcguigan, a poet and psychology graduate from University College Dublin Ireland writes poetry that explores the human condition and the deepest emotions connected to experience.  Sinead wrote her first solo collection A Gift and a Curse while recovering from cancer; her new book Unbound is also available on Amazon. Sinead’s  main interests are travel concerts and art. She often collaborates with artists and have appeared alongside their work in many publications. You can find her work @sineadmcgpoetry on Instagram and Facebook. 

Please share this to give it maximum distribution. 

If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.

blog, Poetry

Three Poems by Benjamin Macnair

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Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @ benmacnair

Zoo

Humanity is never perfect,
but it is all we’ve got.
Imperfect skin,
eyes, red, bloodshot.

Memories are never perfect,
so many times misremembered,
so many people forgotten
but they are all we’ve got.

The cages are never perfect,
windblown, and never swept,
so many counsels’ betrayed,
fewer secrets kept.

The keepers are never perfect,
so much death,
creatures long extinct.

The hammers, the smelting iron,
the pliers, and the welding masks,
always checked,
safety first, first and last.

Downhill

Careful now,
parents shout,
as teenagers leave the house,
and their fleeting traces in the snow,
their trays, shining in the cold winter sun.

At the top of the hill, they look down.
Gathered, no-one thinks is this a good idea?
They don’t think about the concussion,
the potential risk to bones, to limbs,
as they slide down the steep hill,
toboggans with no steering,
and as they reach something like
terminal velocity, at the bottom
they come sliding to a halt,
eager to kick the snow from their feet,
shake blood back into frozen hands,
determined, they look up at the hill,
and do it all again.

Crown Shyness

The tops of trees keep their distance,
although the branches sometimes touch.
And we too can keep our distance,
when things get to be a bit too much.

Coral never grows in unclean water,
the infrastructure needs millions of cell to grow,
but we only see the surface, 
not what goes on below.

All of the unnoticed work, 
the underappreciated people,
making things tick over,
keeping the beast alive,
they need to be noticed,
to be nurtured,
if things are to survive.

Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @ benmacnair

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If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.

blog, Poetry

“Wisdom of the Owl” Poem by Carlos Dickens

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"Wisdom of the Owl" Poem by Carlos Dickens: Carlos Dickens is a poet and short fiction writer from West Virginia, with 20 years experience in writing poetry and short stories, subjects ranging from Gothic, science and rural settings.
He is a shadow
Sitting in the
Cold still of the
Night,
High above the
Rest of the world
Quietly watching
And listening
Unknown and
Out of sight,
Witty and elusive
As he glides along
The wind,
His nocturnal cry
Will taunt your
Soul
Like the haunting
Sounds
Of a violin,
Such a proud and ornate
Creature
Kind of mysterious in
His ways,
The wise old owl
Stands alone
Watching you
With a most
Conspicuous gaze.

Carlos Dickens is a poet and short fiction writer from West Virginia, with 20 years’ experience in writing poetry and short stories, subjects ranging from Gothic, science and rural settings.

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If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.

blog, Poetry

“Dad” Poem by Nicola Pett

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Nicola Pett currently teaches English and Literature in Cairns, Australia. She has worked as an actor, script writer, voice-over artist and creative producer. Her poetry has been published online in The Chamber Magazine, Writing in a Woman's Voice and Grand Little Things. 
Tonight, I lit a candle
But it remained alight
There was no telling flicker
No disruption to the night.

My eyelids heavy, closed
Drifted I into a dream
I did not see you there
To tell me where you’ve been.

I lay in solid slumber
Undisturbed by ghosts of past
So bitterly let down
I was sure I’d know at last.

I was sure you would not leave me
I was sure you’d come to say
That you’re up there in your heaven
That I’ll meet you there one day.

But the sharp light of the sunshine
Woke me to reality 
My eyes opened, looked for you 
And nothing glared right back at me.

Nicola Pett currently teaches English and Literature in Cairns, Australia. She has worked as an actor, script writer, voice-over artist and creative producer. Her poetry has been published online in The Chamber Magazine, Writing in a Woman’s Voice and Grand Little Things. 

Please share this to give it maximum distribution. 

If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.