The Eighth Day of Christmas: John Regan

 

 

Song

 

This evening’s clouds capture

The private imperative of prayer.

The impossible confluence

Of sky, water in air.

 

There is something in them of us-

Our bending toward silent speech.

Bearing at an event horizon,

To each, an ever-escaping purchase.

 

Cordite, rain and oilseed rape.

The shrill train, the rolling voice.

The city is that way- this,

The village. Past tense.

 

Oh I would lie among

The field’s cool stalks

And listen for you along

The branch continuum.

 

 

John Regan  is a Glaswegian living in Cambridge, where he is a research fellow in aesthetics, historiography at Clare Hall. He believes that poetry should be spoken aloud.

 

 

3 comments

  1. Good poem, sir! I like this one very much.

  2. a beautiful poem with a strong sentiment and lots aliterations. very good to read aloud

  3. John Regan

    Thank you for your comments. I love writing and reading poems and we can all love one another better through poetry. X

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