Three Poems by Barrie MacClellan

It Moves

Depucelating the shadows of an exanimate thought
A hearts pulse is felt
Against the gums
While her crystallized loam is gently tearing cheeks
That lay supine and prostrate on the banks of
A sanguine pool
Delirious with malaise-
You quaff from the turbid drizzling
The pensive Anabas perched above you
In an olive tree
Gnash’s its lupine jaws
Dripping mawkish liquid from its erupting gills….
You lay like a raped statue
this moment of pernicious vapidity
gains momentum
as blade wielding windmills
with intrusive proclivities
slake the petrified taste buds
of a swelling tongue
and viviparous lashings
torture your puissant felicity
your flowering Forsythia
your opulent idol-starved eyes
your solder-caked-
key-holed throat
your ameliorating whimpers
and fatuous pulchritude’s- bleed from
a taut and scored vein
and it moves…


we roll over a
staining our
debility, in streams
of auburn & amaranth

coupled in a monolithic
our pleaching
affiance drops
into a blooming bed
of thistles

as we strip a cloud
from its

as we lacerate
the sycophantic

as the altostratus

our implacable claptrap
intones a shattered

while the thistles dry
& detumescence
ebbs over our vapidity

1/3 of the Stars Remain

I wear the scent of your pulchritude
Upon my forehead
Like a diadem of African violets

You lay supine amongst oak leaves
Imitating the vacuous heavens

1/3 of the stars remain,
In the sky- the dying light shimmers
Evanescence on your quaking pores

Your skin is bare & pale
Under the ashen aura
Of the morning star

Your forsythia teems with lubricity & whey

As the polycephaly
Sinks below the forest floor-

The cerise ethers creek
& elucidate
The beauty in your conflagration

Posed, in forgotten fields
Of the Syritis Major
A field of clover, braces & pleads

That in
One thousand two hundred & sixty days

It may savor the depths of your shade

Profile: Barrie MacClellan


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