Jeff Skinner‘s poems are widely published in the UK, most recently in The Passionfruit Review, Atrium, The Aftershock Review; forthcoming in Stand, and in Ink, Sweat & Tears. His pamphlet, Us, was shortlisted for the Live Canon pamphlet prize. In July 2023 he was diagnosed with a neuro-degenerative condition. He listens to a lot of music, watches football, reads, writes.
Mythic
If we drive past the sun god’s big wheels, now the sea
comes into view
and again now, beyond the golden fields.
If you are anything like me you won’t remember clearly,
not at first, and never everything.
Age 15 I think cattle lying down
look like fat senators in their black and white togas.
Could I smuggle that image into an essay
when the holidays are over?
August = Eternity, yes, in a good way.
Nothing to do, day after warm day,
nothing to be done
dreaming comes naturally
to a lazy scholar.
I read book reviews in the Times,
imagine life in Athens, Rome, Ithaca;
walk down a green lane – Queen Anne’s lace,
traveller’s joy, in the hedges – the path sandier,
dunes appear, marram grass, waves breaking gently
on the shore. Is that Odysseus in his dinghy?
Penny sunbathes, shades, blue bikini,
Mum and Dad oblivious to the scene.
© Jeff Skinner