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Plums by Ian Stuart

Even the name

has a round softness to it.

We have waited through the frost,

the small thin leaves, the flowers

and tiny globes expanding

into golden lamps in a green night.

pale planets swinging in their orbits.

Reach in, and feel them brush your face,

cool as marble.

Split one with your thumb

and taste the soft emerald inside.

There are so many -

I had not thought

there could be so many

coloured pebbles on the beach

waiting to be washed away.

a universe of spheres.

While the fallen,

blackened, withered, split,

food for ants and wasps,

sink back into the earth.

_________ Ian Stuart is a British poet, living in York. He has had work accepted in a variety of publications, and had a pamphlet - “Quantum Theory for cats” published by Valley press.


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