Oct 2019
Like smells in old cloth (of cloves or maybe smoke)
your face long after you’ve gone away
finds, inside my mind, hollows and depressions.
My mood is like something changed by the addition
of something foreign (and for the better
the way languages grow ecstatic as pidgins multiply.)
My feelings perch like drab birds and wait for thoughts
of you to come (like letters from somewhere out of town.)
Then their feathers turn, and show the colour under grey.
your face long after you’ve gone away
finds, inside my mind, hollows and depressions.
My mood is like something changed by the addition
of something foreign (and for the better
the way languages grow ecstatic as pidgins multiply.)
My feelings perch like drab birds and wait for thoughts
of you to come (like letters from somewhere out of town.)
Then their feathers turn, and show the colour under grey.
B.T. Joy is a British poet and short fiction writer living in Glasgow. He has also lived in London, Aberdeen and Heilongjiang, Northern China. His poetry and short fiction has appeared in magazines, journals, anthologies and podcasts worldwide including poetry in Yuan Yang, The Meadow, Toasted Cheese, Numinous: Spiritual Poetry, Presence, Paper Wasp, Bottle Rockets, Mu, Frogpond and The Newtowner, among many others. His debut collection of poetry, Teaching Neruda, was released in 2015 by Popcorn Press and his 2016 collection Body of Poetry is also available through Amazon. He can be reached through his website: http://btj0005uk.wix.com/btjoypoet
