[Poetry] — Bernard Pearson

Bangor on Dee Churchyard

Between the river
And the remains
I watch as my wife and son
Do the grave chores,
Remove the recidivist,
weeds pressing their suit
Around the marble,
On the headstone
Of my much loved mother.

At first I weave about
As if in a minefield
Not knowing where to put my feet
But then I am aware of a crop
Of ancestors in their great, stone cots
attuned forever to the sacred loam.
Before arriving beside
that slug of river
they call The Dee.
The sandstone church sucks
To her bosom what light there is
While on the tower,
a dismal dark clock face stands guard
In case reality returns.
and I, I watch the circus act, salmon
rise from the water and the damselfly
dance in and out of the damson leaves,
torturing me with their little ways.

Conscious Uncoupling

‘You had the world
In the palm of someone else’s hand,’
She said,
As the dark emerald of
The city lights closed in.

‘And you knew that
This world would
Do anything for you.’
She continued,
While a chevron
Of wild geese
Gossiped their way
Towards the salt marsh
Where the tide infects
The land.

‘I thought about you
Night and day’ he said.
‘Until the thinking
Was all.
You know like making
When the making
Was the thing.’

A freight train
Muttered something
Under its breath
On the far side of town
And cats noised themselves
In a long dead rose thicket
That once bloomed every year
Like clockwork on someone’s birthday.

She returned the world to him
And faced the window
To hide her tears
Seeing beyond
The rat run racing
And a bus, ‘not in service’.

He got out of the car
In slow motion,
Perhaps half- hoping
That she would
Get out and run after him,
But she had already
Clipped on her seat belt for safety.



Bernard Pearson’s work appears in many publications, including, Aesthetica Magazine, The Edinburgh Review and Crossways. In 2017, a selection of his poetry, entitled In Free Fall, was published by Leaf by Leaf Press. In 2019  he won second prize in The Aurora Prize for Writing for his poem ‘Manor Farm’.


















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