New Poetry by Natalie Crick

New Poetry by Natalie Crick



That deluge of haze
Just before sundown.

Spring shakes Winter’s hand

Now the day has truly gone.

Street lamps glow
A sodium pink

When blue milk pacifies,
The copper moon sliding up a sleeve of glass,

Her luminous lake
Drowning the city,

A black felt hat against
Heaven’s empty dome.

An indigo deer slips back
Through the shadow of night-green cedar,

Teasing with promise.
I could not look away.



At the End of Autumn


I once watched you ripen like a grape
In the sun’s punishing heat,
Soaking blood into cloth,
Leaves spread under flames,
Flowers brown corpses
Floating face down,
Lilies deformed
Of billowing tongue.
Night fell down
Thicker and faster,
A purpling sky,
Secrets all bleeding,
The mouth of December
Robed in the cold crawl of it.
Then white noise.
Every cherry-tree skeleton
Aching for shelter,

All in wet catharsis.
I long for the cold harps of Autumn.



Turned To Dust


Nothing stirs
In the white village of the dead.
This broken house
Turned to dust.

A clammy mist pours over the garden,
The pink light of dawn bursting and bleeding.
I hear the rain’s violent hiss.
Then nothing.



Copyright© 2017 by Natalie Crick. All Rights Reserved.


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, The Chiron Review, Rust and Moth, Ink in Thirds and The Penwood 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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