stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 22013
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2021-10-01 10:38:35
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-10-01 10:38:35
    [post_content] => 
https://youtu.be/SPpFL5cuc1U

Charles, let me tell you what I saw:
in the last leg of our journey,
rats ate the victuals. I had hoped
for stars and jewels, yet here the ship
spat back something hollow and actual.
In our hunger, we gnawed on oars
and barrel planks like teething babies.

On the seventh day, we saw a blot
creased in the distance. From closer
it became an island, of a curious
shifting beauty. Heady visions sprouted
behind our eyes and for the first time
I saw the water clinging to our ship.

Then, strange noseless animals
slapping our ship’s wooden hull,
mussels flapping their shells and birds
noising loudly on the seashore.

But Charles, if you only saw the island’s
burning eels. These toothless creatures,
plunged into a bucket, will make water
boil. Already we have plucked an elver
to heat our humble camp, to light up
the teeming blue beach. It’s true,
since arriving we have burnt nothing,
not a twig.

But the nights are new and fitful,
our hands wet guests in this land
without people. We pray:
Let sweat succeed the
seawater beating the rocks,
Let the sea stay still and low.
I lay here, my back padded in bumps
and open bites, if only to bid you:

Tonight when you lay down your head
smell this salt smell with me
think of the water clubbing itself
and drift like a sea-cleaned pebble
into sleep. Forget the unstoppable
coming silence, the clear
airless waters, free of life.

Think instead of your love
standing here wishful
with her fistful of fish.

[post_title] => Letter to a Loving Husband [post_excerpt] => [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => letter-to-a-loving-husband [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2021-11-11 15:11:49 [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-11-11 15:11:49 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=22013 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => poems [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw [meta_data] => stdClass Object ( [wpcf-published-in] => [wpcf-date-published] => 2021 [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the Poems to Solve the Climate Crisis challenge on Young Poets Network in 2021. This challenge was created in partnership with People Need Nature, and set and judged by poet Louisa Adjoa Parker. [wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Poems to Solve the Climate Crisis Challenge [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 21178 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Irma Kiss Barath [slug] => irma-kiss-barath [content] => Irma is the second-prize winner in the Poetry and Political Language Challenge on Young Poets Network, in partnership with the Orwell Youth Prize. Irma is also commended in the Poems to Solve the Climate Crisis Challenge on Young Poets Network, created in partnership with People Need Nature and judged by Louisa Adjoa Parker; in August Challenge #2: Write the Absurd, set and judged by Foyle Young Poet Mukisa Verrall; and in August Challenge #1: Re-mixing History, Fiction and the Unexpected. ) )
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21178
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Irma Kiss Barath
    [slug] => irma-kiss-barath
    [content] => Irma is the second-prize winner in the Poetry and Political Language Challenge on Young Poets Network, in partnership with the Orwell Youth Prize. Irma is also commended in the Poems to Solve the Climate Crisis Challenge on Young Poets Network, created in partnership with People Need Nature and judged by Louisa Adjoa Parker; in August Challenge #2: Write the Absurd, set and judged by Foyle Young Poet Mukisa Verrall; and in August Challenge #1: Re-mixing History, Fiction and the Unexpected.
)

Letter to a Loving Husband

Irma Kiss Barath

Charles, let me tell you what I saw:
in the last leg of our journey,
rats ate the victuals. I had hoped
for stars and jewels, yet here the ship
spat back something hollow and actual.
In our hunger, we gnawed on oars
and barrel planks like teething babies.

On the seventh day, we saw a blot
creased in the distance. From closer
it became an island, of a curious
shifting beauty. Heady visions sprouted
behind our eyes and for the first time
I saw the water clinging to our ship.

Then, strange noseless animals
slapping our ship’s wooden hull,
mussels flapping their shells and birds
noising loudly on the seashore.

But Charles, if you only saw the island’s
burning eels. These toothless creatures,
plunged into a bucket, will make water
boil. Already we have plucked an elver
to heat our humble camp, to light up
the teeming blue beach. It’s true,
since arriving we have burnt nothing,
not a twig.

But the nights are new and fitful,
our hands wet guests in this land
without people. We pray:
Let sweat succeed the
seawater beating the rocks,
Let the sea stay still and low.
I lay here, my back padded in bumps
and open bites, if only to bid you:

Tonight when you lay down your head
smell this salt smell with me
think of the water clubbing itself
and drift like a sea-cleaned pebble
into sleep. Forget the unstoppable
coming silence, the clear
airless waters, free of life.

Think instead of your love
standing here wishful
with her fistful of fish.