The new Write Out Loud Poem of the Week is the timely ‘Cursed Be He That Moves My Bones’, by Ian Whiteley. It’s a sonnet whose title comes from the inscription on William Shakespeare’s tomb, in the week of the 400th anniversary of the Bard's death, and concludes: “In that poetic threat I see at last / the future reaching back to touch the past.”  One fan of the poem commented: “A fine sonnet and a fine tribute.” On his profile page, Ian tells us that he was born in Wakefield, and now lives in Wigan, and regular attends the “marvellous Write Out Loud open mic sessions at the Old Courts in Wigan”. He is also a member of the Black Horse Poets in Wakefield, and holds the title of 'Black Horse Poet of the Year 2015'. After being made redundant in 2012 he “started to take poetry seriously”. He performs and records poetry and music under the name of The Crows of Albion, and has also formed Bard Company, a performance poetry group with fellow poets and Write Out Loud contributors Jefferama!, Gordon Zola and Tony Kinsella.

His second collection of poems, The Cycle of the Scarecrow, was described by reviewer Laura Taylor as “employing an impressive array of poetic form and technique, including terza rima, kyrielle, villanelle, pantoum, haiku, four (count ‘em) types of sonnets, concrete, found, and ekphrastic poetry”.

 

 

Cursed Be He That Moves My Bones

by Ian Whiteley

 

“Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare,

To dig the dust enclosed here.

Blessed be the man that spares these stones,

And cursed be he that moves my bones.”

 

 

How often did I studiously fail

to untangle your brier patch of words.

Encouraged by my teachers to prevail

in setting free the frustrated songbirds,

so that their melody could swell the heart

of English folks rich tapestry of life,

and each actor could undertake the part

of king or fool in comedy or strife.

 

Four hundred years have passed and here I stand

upon your simple worn and trampled stones

and read the curse you placed upon the hand

who would dare take away your buried bones.

In that poetic threat I see at last

the future reaching back to touch the past.