Thursday, September 10, 2020

Two Poems, by Luke Bradford



Ireland fogs.
Foreign lads
signaled for
fire and logs.

Fog in alders,
a fiord’s glen.
A golden firs
ring of dales.
soaring, fled
a finer golds
island forge:

rain-elf gods,
refolding as
gears infold.




bugs that buzz; tiny, 

busy nuns that hide 

that Lady deep amid 

some waxy maze; that

wing over your park, 

your farm, your plot, 

your lawn; that call 

upon each iris, lily,

posy, vine, plum tree, 

palm tree, pear tree, 

lime; that draw from 

each that rosy wine;

that come home, legs 

dyed with pale gold 

dust, then buzz, dozy, 

into some cozy room





Luke Bradford is an experimental poet living in Brooklyn, New York. His latest collection of constrained poetry, Glossology, is available for purchase as a book or for free download as a PDF at His work has been published in print and online by Penteract Press, Timglaset, ToCall magazine, No Press, and more.


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