Stuart Buck- Three Poems

Stuart Buck is a poet and writer living in North Wales with his wife and two children. His poetry and prose have been widely published in journals such asThe Stare's Nest, Cultured Vultures, Deadsnakes, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Erbacce Journal, The Seventh Quarry, Walking is Still Honest, Yellow Chair Review, The Sunflower Collective and Under the Fable. He has been a featured poet in both FIVE magazine and poetrykit. When he is not writing or reading, he enjoys juggling, cooking and ambient music. More of his work can be found @ www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/stubuck.

Sack

a week ago

when the piercing clarity of the moon sang

graphite harmonies, sweeping across the silent hills

before we discovered that tiny, blotted bundle

 of eternity in the field behind your house

before the piercing violence of your scream

split the charcoal              night

as you peeled back the hessian shroud

revealing a tiny face

 with eyes dreaming of forever.

Coal

the butterflies suffered the most during those locust years spent

in the hinterland of rural adolescence with those teasles and tantrums

before sarah kennedy caught me watching her undress

and spread her legs when she saw me looking and

those mythical tales of masturbation, of a different world

full of semen painted scenery and soft wet reflections

of the one inhabited by my finicking mother prying and peering

while my friend and i removing the wings of butterflies with wasp factory precision

that brief, romantic dalliance with sensual death

during which i used the calculator on my plastic ruler

to work out how many seconds i had left to live

before the sweet suffocation of mortality took me

to where the bees were black as coal

six billion five hundred and seventy million

Kiss

Where the grass is greenest

Cotton candy kissed

dandelions predict everything that can be

                And the milk eyed trout                spark solar flares

We lay in the cool Halcyon touch

                              of youth

Before the storm brought the ineffable drip of decay

And as our sticky palms pressed

Our trembling lips met for the first time

And whole galaxies were born as we died in the fire.