Nicholas Battey poet

Poem: Lovely Dead

Lovely Dead If I were to let you go who would I show this garden to; who would be there to tell me ‘no’ it’s not enough to say it’s blue in June, when echiums greet the bees (just as later they give finches seeds) and turns yellow in summer sun, burns to red with … Read more

Poetry: Nicholas Battey

Last Breath of Leaves Cup a pear, hear it abscise, number the days until ripe; the river chuckles with swollen pride – back to a ditch by six, drained away to the scaly, selfish sea. At dawn there’s steam across the water, a cloud of egrets scuds over; old and waiting, mud for water, leaves … Read more