Bio: David Gale is vegan, poet, mountaineer and owner of rescue dogs living in Gloucester in the UK. He started out as an archaeologist and has made a number of career changes while discovering poetry on the way. His poems and haiku have been published in numerous magazines on both sides of the Atlantic. Instagram: @sshhpoems
We cleared a whole month in name, in conscience, before venturing out. Such was the guilt of the unscathed we let the winter darkened shadows turn sand dry before leaving our familiar corridors our dry low risk island estate free from the New Year regattas of bobbing miniature craft on the town streets and homely glebes. We took the unprotected road through countryside to the church long abandoned by the village the dead-ended road a silent lane of empty farms, parked and strode down the field of pastures uncut heavy and lame in fallowness of early spring. At first we were drawn to a survivor an ancient ash with a royalist trunk and time-hollowed rim of withered branches praying to the sky in our way to descend the field to be stopped in our easy stride by the curving touchline the constant field mark of the contouring heap of flushed-out countryside and street litter, the hapless fleet of beached tree trunks held in hoggish lift. We stepped over the paling entered the riverless flood zone of the two metre sump, walked for a whole mile across the silt scuffed sea of dock leaves a new green flushed out, clasping as desert flowers past thickets threadbare of life probing eyes under the wingless skies. And then the invisible peel of church bells tolling across the emptied landscape, all warnings being long lost carried far down tossed out to sea.
A Word Of Knowledge
Discovered by some recent repair work this has been left exposed to give some idea of the simplicity: the ten commandments restored by his wife and many friends, the heating apparatus installed by his niece, the ensign laid up on disbandment of this service, the deaf-aid apparatus installed by his many friends together with this brass tablet placed on the demolition of the old church. A word of knowledge was given for people with metal in their bodies, God wants to bring salvation in many ways. He was blindfolded and a cup of coffee was placed near his nose. Is that mint I can smell? He could smell the chewing gum of the person praying for him. We hope these stories capture something of what God is doing. If God heals my toe then maybe I'll consider his existence. God is our refuge and strength. We try to facilitate the invasion of humanly impossible situations placed here in oak tablets, in loving remembrance, dear father, dear mother.
M is for...
the eighth sinbitter sweet within my heart. A slow dancetouching earth and waking the dead. The broken places and my body leavesno scars. From the house of oppositesa simple vision of White Cliffs,frost fairsand sweets. Sounds of a cellarabandoned, wonderingon the hill. My part insongs for Eve and lettersfor the inheritors.