A Preview of Reuben Woolley's 'the king is dead' (Oneiros Books)

mountain poem

writing on the edge . an awe

full balancing , each word

tight . no room

for whims . no fears

of falling . finding footholds

hang by fingers . no

crampons , no ropes

alone , you & the wind . put

that idea here

safe . hold

on to it . your life

de-pends

on the next word

unholy silence

living here 
is no pleasure . the death
of things , the stillness
here
they do not cry . they stare
with blooded eyes , unseeing
black hills run down
to blacker water unheard , ears 
pierced . the death 
of dreams

they are dry trees , stand
for no flame . no
red licks of bones

we lock these things away 
they will not return with stories
we cannot but hear . blindfold
they will not see
our secrets , our fumbling
games of wet flesh . hoping
for immortality , for
memory . our overwhelming
use-lessness

shadows

birds fly
heavily
over blooded land . it is
no matter . we
did not name
this place
            still
singing hymns before
the sun . does not
rise . the shadow
makers came
before . stripped flesh
from all the living
stories , sucking 
details from bones . eyes
are choice
for rats & crows
            the nothing
that was done
casts long shade
& fear spreads cells
unseen . we do not
move . we are absorbed
in dark streets . we feed 
the screams of all
the silent children . red
meat hanging to dry . we
lost this game . there is
no replay , no last appeal

orchard

I grow arms
& legs . a face
will appear & I
shall learn speech

if bleeding is needed
I'll open
the veins , bead
this orchard red
it will grow bones

                         this
is my graveyard . 'm
behind these stones
singing
with new lips . I grow
skin for these rites , coming
in profusion , renewing
dead earth

the king is dead (ii)

hero , you have sold your golden armour

for a night’s lodging · priest,

a lady has taken your robe for a pillow                         

the ventriloquist’s dummy

has stolen his words

& all our eyes

have been pierced

by the same silken thread

we will make

the same mistake again , all of us

when the time

comes again

those of you

who chew your food slowly

against the coming of the rats            

consider

the king did not go short of food

madame             

the flowering tree

has been corrupted              

& the other parts of the body

fell off

long ago


'the king is dead' is available from Oneiros Books, here