stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18901
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2018-05-04 09:25:09
    [post_date_gmt] => 2018-05-04 09:25:09
    [post_content] => but, shibboleth; what’s salvageable in
halves? again my broken english is wrenched
past monday west-ends, free declamations
riffed at speaker’s corner, pigeons
under trees, the same shadows

turning tricks; this morning as i walked out
of the house, i stopped parsing my way; & i saw
that every window was open to the storm-drawn air,
vaguely soft in vowel but blowing
to stifle things left unmade or asleep:

the bed or the toppled toast rack,
true & honest in themselves, crossing forwards,
overlapping; last night. how we nearly were,
a hyphenation in the December light;-
stark-coloured & more literal

than grief. & soon, the wrens will come back
to dismantle this heavy sky laid
low with winter; to help me walk & speak
like any reasonable woman; to move the night-stuff
of dust rotting these beams, too mild

for frost, shuddering splintered
hours of forgotten scent after every
rushed-latinate wind that rumbles the door
like a warning, before it disappears.
    [post_title] => Resurgam
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => resurgam
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2018-05-18 12:23:18
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2018-05-18 12:23:18
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18901
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is highly commended in the Nearlyology challenge on Young Poets Network(YPN) in 2018.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Highly commended, Nearlyology challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 17522
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Annie Fan
            [slug] => annie-fan
            [content] => Annie is second-prize winner in the 16-18 age category in the End Hunger UK challenge on Young Poets Network and highly commended in the Nearlyology challenge. They are also a runner-up in the BBC Proms Poetry Competition 2017 and the second prize winner in the Who is Giselle? poetry challenge on Young Poets Network.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 17522
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Annie Fan
    [slug] => annie-fan
    [content] => Annie is second-prize winner in the 16-18 age category in the End Hunger UK challenge on Young Poets Network and highly commended in the Nearlyology challenge. They are also a runner-up in the BBC Proms Poetry Competition 2017 and the second prize winner in the Who is Giselle? poetry challenge on Young Poets Network.
)

Resurgam

Annie Fan

but, shibboleth; what’s salvageable in
halves? again my broken english is wrenched
past monday west-ends, free declamations
riffed at speaker’s corner, pigeons
under trees, the same shadows

turning tricks; this morning as i walked out
of the house, i stopped parsing my way; & i saw
that every window was open to the storm-drawn air,
vaguely soft in vowel but blowing
to stifle things left unmade or asleep:

the bed or the toppled toast rack,
true & honest in themselves, crossing forwards,
overlapping; last night. how we nearly were,
a hyphenation in the December light;-
stark-coloured & more literal

than grief. & soon, the wrens will come back
to dismantle this heavy sky laid
low with winter; to help me walk & speak
like any reasonable woman; to move the night-stuff
of dust rotting these beams, too mild

for frost, shuddering splintered
hours of forgotten scent after every
rushed-latinate wind that rumbles the door
like a warning, before it disappears.