The Chant of Digging Roal originally appears on Wild Sound Festival Review
Ab-Zohr Sonnet originally published by CAAB Publishing as part of my book Bonds: A Short Story Collection
House Sparrow published by PopShot Magazine
Eidolon Tolling published by iambapoet
THE CHANT OF A DIGGING ROYAL
My spade knocks against rock while gardening, a speck of promise from a surface scratch. More than a stone; composed, profound, sparkling, it could be dislodged using skills I match. It gleams, it glitters tantilisingly, requiring little attention from me, with my small fingers deft enough to claw, my nails just long enough to loosen more. I imagine it now mounted in gold, over my larynx and under my jaw, to give my voice credence when I get old. Blast booming din kills. Cacophony shakes. The earth’s core unstills. Gravel and clay takes my treasure. Earthquake’s violent vibration ends aspiration. EIDOLON TOLLING The running tap, might pour pounding froths of furor over your divested protests, drown your clamour. I cannot help but imagine your loud discord. Yet, when I check in, you're sleeping sound, mi amor. There's always your call-to-arms from another room. Conjecture presumes your disinherited roar, for fear your alarm may be sucked up by vacuum, your tumult aches covered with crackling hiss of chores. When hurly-burly bubbles from kettle rise up, under din, your siren alerts. It's like sad cats. If the rumble lasts too long for either of us, I hallucinate pealing cries bringing me back to small, smarting pangs of your dissonant phrases, vibrating dispossession, under white noises. HOUSE SPARROW I saw a strange thing in March before winter's blanket lifted. Still to plume into weildy monochromes, a House Sparrow of fledgling fluff, latte foams and breathy grey, too early ushered from the nest, to the garden, showed no joy in the erratic company of his peers' combative play. No pleasure in the assaulting smack of snowballs to his skull. I imagine, back at the nest, there's no relief in the scalding bath which wizened, toughened hides insist is "fine". As siblings guzzle the nasal lava of fizzy pop, he watches on. No sugar rush. No appetite to force down the greens on his plate. Too often rushed with no time to be. Too early ushered from the nest. To protest the injustice, not enough notes yet. AB-ZOHR’S TEMPLE SONNET (OFFERING TO THE WATERS) 450 BC in old Kangavar / of Achaemenid start, Sassanid end. / Persepolis’ traditions recalled are: / stone platforms from which two stairways ascend. / Gilded, renamed; Venus, River Ishtar, / Mary, Aphrodite, Anaitis. / Venerated divinity: Water. / Hellenistic in characteristics. Life and herd increasing folds forced open. / Her milk’s flow to new-borns supressed for coins, / one breast censored, the other man-handled. / Toppled, gypsum-limestone turrets broken. / Skies beating blues. Grasses slice bone-bleached stone. / Ere, a stately gold place, she resided. (The ruins of Anahita’s temple still stand in Kangavar, Iran, today) Wolfpack Contributor: Sarra Culleno A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Sarra Culleno A Sarra Culleno Poetry Feature : poems, writings
Fevers of the Mind 
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