Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance
I have discovered a poet, a writer I hadn't heard of even though she is from round these parts. I borrowed one of her books from the library and unusually for me with poetry books, I loved every one of the poems within this one. Have you heard of her I wonder? Chris Kinsey. She was BBC Wildlife Poet of the Year in 2008 and lives in Wales. She is also a rescuer of greyhounds though Greyhound Rescue Wales and a commissioned sequence of poems Houndlove was included in Poems of Love and Longing (Pont Books, Gomer Press, 2008). Chris Kinsey has been dubbed ‘Greyhounds’ Poet Laureate’
These two just right-for-this-season poems are from her book I borrowed,
Cure for a Crooked Smile
One February Night
To appease a hunger
brought on by reading about snow
I start making porridge.
Sensing the wolf in the blizzard
I watch my dogs asleep at the hearth,
muzzles twitching, honing dream scents.
I stir till the pelt thickens,
scatter almonds and pumpkin seeds,
twirl in honey and lick the swell.
Wind snuffles at the door
snowflakes scratch softly
When the New Year rolls over on dark mornings
I wonder how much is coaxed
by moon’s second-handlight?
Snowdrops appear after the first full circle
as if the force which tugs tides, sucks white
up their stalks, draws them on to swell and drip.
This play of pearling
sets the birds rehearsing
long before dawn.
The moon wanes; snowdrops open wing-nuts
on a bit more day. By the big, mirror-moon,
of Candlemas, they’ll still be hanging parachutes.
Courting birds will chorus light.
Last February flood, bubbling curlews
waded through quicksilver midnight.