New Poetry by Annest Gwilym : “Insomniac” & “The Word Collector”


dawn coughs light

  streaks the headache skies

         too early

  back to sleep

today    the milk-sour mother

        of tomorrow

          illuminates curtain edges

        with dust flowers

     too bright

    too early

blackbird alarm-calls        fracture silence

    turn over

      back to sleep

in the young day    light grows dense

          arthritic clock hands

        march on

                     come back night

      back to sleep

the moon has lost its drapery

    ghosted by brightness

          white din

              too early

hands that twist the bedsheets

                      check the clock

    tick tock

           turn over

light coughs    sifts

    through curtains

   takes root

              too bright

      come back night

  cars growl past 

  like the ebb and flow

        of thoughts

                wind-washed rain spatters

            drums on glass

                            too much noise 

           too early 

come back night

The Word Collector

Almost invisible ghost,
she hunts the early morning air
for a sliver of dream
floating down from
a just open bedroom window,
a catch of words in her throat,
wild and untamed.

Moon-eyed tempest-chaser,
deep as midnight,
as you pass in the street
she’ll sieve your thoughts
before they settle in your head
like river mud.

The soft murmuration of leaves
in glassy, backlit light
gathers in her mind
like the phantom faces
of the children she never had.

She scours the beach
for its salty trawl
of sea pottery and glass,
filleting words and histories,
panning for gold.

Words unfurl and are caught
in the curve of a shell,
the wind’s semaphore
in pollen-rich grass,
the moon tangled in trees.

Magpie-hearted collector,
words can never capture
the surging gold of sunrise,
or twilight’s indigo fall.

Wolfpack Contributor: Annest Gwilym

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Annest Gwilym