Poems

James Curran: ‘Dozmary Pool’ and ‘Purple Noon’

Dozmary Pool A grey bowl of chilled gruel guarding its deeps of silent stillness, where a grim sky lowers as mere backdrop to the foreground that brimmed with my breathless hopes and expectations. A lake at peace with its own desolation, fringed by lithe reeds swaying barely enough to lend a soft breeze its purpose. I waited for her arm to rise, slicing up to pierce my mind’s eye. Excalibur aloft … clear ribboned streams sluicing the glinted blade, showers of bubble trapped droplets marking out its sacred circumference. Legend drew me here, faith sustained by myth of that arm,…

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