Hallgrímskirkja
The thought of it persists, the blue and white
of Iceland, where mastery and theatre unite;
a church of the stubborn born earth,
a magnetic glory be,
the shape of a Killer whale.
It excites; grey trips of seagulls –
the throat of the ocean, curious,
and bone by bone – cleaned of, hairs that quiver
in the bolt – a string sharp gut to the heart,
an overflow of an alarm call.
Hoarse and symmetrical – hungry
for solitude, the purest cry bites,
my fingers of stalagmites. They crystallize,
clasped – but ambitioned to be unowned,
a tectonic gasp, a movement of vocals over the back;
reptiles bathed in ice, my skin for the scratch
of a chandelier.
I pass right through the mouth of winter,
finding height where ever it may be,
to shed a scream of collision, existing solely,
rushing into the sun.
kealan coady
Sat 30th Jun 2012 10:28
really good poem here, especially church of the stubborn born earth, nice one, kind of a kerouacy feel off it, and some decent internal rhyming aswell (or half ryming i think it is) yknow wat i mean, like, bites, stalagmites and crystallize, among others made this a good one.