Colin Honnor is a poet and fine arts publisher based in the Cotswolds, where he runs an independent fine arts press dedicated to high-quality literary and visual work. Up the Line
Up the line the downs slide open
As these travellers return
Here the sleeper stirs in dreaming
There a burring electron whirs
As the whine of the hydraulics
Dazzle kaleidoscope of rails
Wind unwind skeining their course
That is for these direction, for others
A symbol of eternity in glass
Reflex of the facia glazed half eye.
On the Haight
Rain fills its carved spaces
Curves of light bend
It is forming the gapped
Brown brick steam created
The vast trellis of steel
And the plangent strophes
Of these countering voices
Where the scarred cortex
Relives the jungle swamp
Echo of lightning
Bursts over Pacific
Sluiced from the belly of steel
Steam rises from hydrants
Becoming a ritual and a psalm
To the raddled idols.
Carrowdore
Where hardly stone tumbles about the Carven pile
Hardly walled, the ice on granite glares at sun
And the fierce obdurates echoes among
These felt in each pulse and coursing through minds
Who have woven their pasts in other lives
Immersed in and within their varied sensibilia
They gather there oars and rudders for the unhulled
Horizons, the many times have been forewarned
And disregarded, the still dwindling undercurrents of the human strain and stain
Spreads its lichens wristed sinews growths in walls
As a gloved vessel fills with its way evaporate moisture, these feelings that are disarticulated
About to form into the numinous music of condensing, condensations sparkle motion and force, across each green turfed bristle, to the stillness the dancing the release
Where fells yawn to gape down to loughs
Spliced to streams and the murmuring estuary
How their syllables yoke a deeper notion of the horizon, never away and never there.