Acts

With regard to these acts: removal of clothing,
nudity in front of females and before prayer,
the belly a heap of wheat set about with lilies,

a brood of men with bushy locks, black as raven,
the shaving of beards O daughters of Jerusalem,
exposure to extreme temperatures, hot or cold, short

shackling to an eye-bolt on the floor,
spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,
three hundred and fifty incidents of self-harm,

a garden inclosed, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed,
hoods, goggles, lap dances during interrogation,
fear of dogs, the use of dogs; the acts in question

were perpetrated by known government officials,
their teeth a flock of sheep, evenly shorn.

      Awarded 3rd prize in the TLS/Foyles Poetry Competition 2007

Foxes

A passion fuelled by foxes cannot last.
Our joiners cobbled up this mirrored bliss.
A skater's weight will force a pond's collapse.
Fox-love is a game of hit or miss.

I'll throw them chicken wings, a slice of beef.
Porch lights will ignite when foxes run.
Our garden is a pool of disbelief.
Vermin have their holes in kingdom come.

The synaesthete sees colour in a word;
a tune is bitter almond, orange peel.
A fox's nose is cleaner than a sword.
Our kiss was burning bibles on a wheel.

Hail, as foxes gnaw their daily bread,
the winter pavement serving as a dish.
We snuffled out our boundaries in bed.
Christ send me, quick, another night like this.

      Awarded 3rd prize in the inaugural Wigtown Poetry Competition, 2006

from Apocrypha

The Apocalypse of Judas,
chapter thirteen, verse
something-or-other:

as cows feed on clover,
crows on earthworms,
so men desire digestive charms.

It is beauty sustains us . . .
lean cuts from the Cross,
Italian shoes.

Therefore avoid St Andrews,
its burnt crust of a castle,
golf ball truffles,

the West Sands
a mouth-watering prospect for the damned.

      Published in 'The Book of St Andrews', ed. Robert Crawford (Polygon, 2005)

            *

Ruth at sunrise, grooming horses.
The bit, bridle, curry-comb of love
was her business.

Simeon skulked around indoors,
consulted Qabalah, threw sticks,
anything to improve sex.

Clouds were locomotive smoke,
camels or torn pillows,
the imperfect

science of moodswing or a god
in evidence everywhere, the veil
obscuring male from female.

Ruth gathered apples. The Elohim
stamped in their stalls.

      Published in 'The Dark Horse' magazine, issue 17, summer 2005

            *

Adam's jaw, at birth:
teeth upper and lower,
immaculate African

white, including incisors,
ideal for all that red meat
hoofing it through Eden.

Tales of his wisdom teeth,
those ingrowing
tusks of apish origin,

remain as apocrypha.
See also: Adam’s puberty,
the pudding-bowl haircut,

his mother
cursing his father.

      Published in 'The Dark Horse' magazine, issue 17, summer 2005

            *

Adam lay miraculous,
unconscious with drink.
In a dream, he named whiskies

by nose, palate, finish:
brine and limes, a delicate
peat-reek, Weetabix.

Plasticine, emulsion paint,
amyl nitrate. A warm horse.
Kippers, treacle toffee, grassy

with green grape . . .
the work was endless.
Jalapeno peppers, tobacco notes . . .

Adam rose with a rough tongue
and heartbroken.

      Published in 'The Dark Horse' magazine, issue 17, summer 2005

A.B. Jackson © 2008