Thursday, 6 February 2014

Blood Cry

The serenity in Abruzzo valley lies shattered. Vineyards framed by weathered stone houses unveil sad songs to a little San Pietro della Ienca church. Dogs sniff for stolen blood along ski slopes, the smell of iron like death in the air. A pontiff’s love in gold and glass soars like a speck of dust astir. Every new year in blood- soaked cassocks, every papacy distraught.
©Martha Landman
 Martha Landman writes poetry in tropical North Queensland, Australia. Her latest work appeared in Eunoia Review, The Camel Saloon and other journals.

4 comments:

  1. Blood Cry - what a great title for a poem.

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  2. Thanks Mike! I sometimes find the titles the most challenging part. I'm glad this one hit the mark.

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  3. Ooh, the lines "A pontiff’s love in gold and glass soars like a speck of dust astir" gave me the shivers. Beautiful!

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