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Thursday, 6 February 2014

Blood Cry

The serenity in Abruzzo valley lies shattered. Vineyards framed by weathered stone houses unveil sad songs to a little San Pietro della Ienca church. Dogs sniff for stolen blood along ski slopes, the smell of iron like death in the air. A pontiff’s love in gold and glass soars like a speck of dust astir. Every new year in blood- soaked cassocks, every papacy distraught.
©Martha Landman
 Martha Landman writes poetry in tropical North Queensland, Australia. Her latest work appeared in Eunoia Review, The Camel Saloon and other journals.

4 comments:

mike said...

Blood Cry - what a great title for a poem.

Martha Landman said...

Thanks Mike! I sometimes find the titles the most challenging part. I'm glad this one hit the mark.

Sweeper of Dreams said...

Ooh, the lines "A pontiff’s love in gold and glass soars like a speck of dust astir" gave me the shivers. Beautiful!

Martha Landman said...

Thank you!!