Poetry — March 7, 2017 12:04 — 0 Comments

Plums at Night – Natalie Crick

The night is plum-dark.
Horses hang in the depths of sleep,

Haunches gleaming blue-black as
Dripping dusky fruit,

Skin enticing touch,
Misted by the press of my thumb.

I want to bite right down
To the hard grooved core,

Flesh dense as
Blood in lungs,

Pulse of the heart
Throbbing to be licked,

Thirst and murmur and desire
Rolling the tongue as the

Horse’s eyes
Turn to their whites in
Wide and open as a cage

In the belly of the night,
Asking: ‘Do I dare?’


Natalie Crick, from the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including Interpreters House, Rust and Moth, Ink In Thirds, The Penwood Review and The Chiron Review. Her work also features or is forthcoming in a number of anthologies, including Lehigh Valley Vanguard Collections 13. This year her poem, 'Sunday School' was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney