Rosemary Sandford has been published in a wide range of magazines.
She is currently studying for the MA in creative writing at the University of Newcastle.


 

GREEN MAN SESTINA

Brother Aldred begins to illuminate 
the capital G in Genesis.
He places the Green Man, whose work 
is to ensure that spring
always returns and earth grows green,
within the letter, hidden in the leaves.

In the kitchen, Brother John leaves
the loaves to rise. `Illuminate
my soul,' he prays. In the green
pond, the fish have their genesis,
multiplying greatly in the spring.
Each monk spends his days in work

and prayer. In the oratory, the work
of the mason is to carve acanthus leaves
around the Green Man's head. It will spring
from the Roman arch. Glass will illuminate
the book, opened at Genesis, richly coloured in red, gold and green.

The Abbot walks within the green
of the herb garden, watching the work
of cultivating plants. He thinks on Genesis, 
the Garden of Eden and the leaves
clothing Adam and Eve. 'Illuminate my
soul,' he prays, rejoicing in the spring.

The Duc brings his troubadour in spring,
who sings his new sestina, dressed in green.
His clear voice makes the flames illuminate
the hall with moving light. The work
performed is written on leaves
of finest vellum. Considering Genesis,

Brother Aldred studies the G in Genesis, 
how it shows the Green Man in the spring 
of life, vibrant within the leaves.
Brother John serves the fish from the green
pond to the Abbot and his guests. The work 
of prayer goes on. 'Our souls illuminate.'
Reading from Genesis, walking on the green
grass of spring, the Abbot sees the work 
is good. Leaves turn. He prays, 'Illuminate.'



Europa to Zeus

I watched you rising from the sea,
the golden sun between your horns. 
You looked newborn, muscles rippling 
in your smooth, milk-white, 
gleaming hide. With what gracious 
dignity you knelt, bowed your head;
I saw my image in your obsidian eyes, 
I saw your shining soul.

Dearest Bull, I kissed each lovely 
flower I draped about dour neck, 
caressed and felt the power of 
each hard horn, leapt upon your 
broad, strong back, rode the waves
to Crete. You took me then, dear Zeus, 
beneath the cypress trees, the scent 
of myrtle in the air.

I loved your gifts; Laelaps, the swiftest 
hound, the javelin that never missed, 
bronze Talus, guardian of the isle, but 
dearest and the best, our three royal sons-
¬dearer far to me than rule as Queen, 
or worship as the goddess, Mellotis. 
Beloved ravisher, my snow-white bull, 
you always were most generous.



Zeus to Europa

I loved you from the start; 
watching you play along 
the water's edge, dancing 
with your maids. You were 
the fairest; your smile, 
your grace, captured all my 
heart, the great heart of a god.

So I came to you. Not shining 
bright in godly light, nor 
in shapely human form, 
but as a pure white bull,
strong and lovely as a sacrifice.

Transformed, rising from the sea,
I humbly walked and kneeled
before my love, my dearest dear,
my fair Europa, who would be a queen. 
With sweet flowers, you garlanded
my neck, with softest hands,
caressed my deep broad chest,
grasped my horns, mounted, 
thrusting hard upon my back. 
I took you, plunging through the sea 
to Crete, gave ??? godly gifts, 
children, and a kingdom too.



When the Sun Drops

When the sun drops, 
the mallows furl the 
heart-shaped petals 
of their fragile blooms. 
They do not open 
to the moon.

When the sun rises-
¬life-giving god of day¬-
the flowers open, 
thrusting priapic yellow 
tongues to taste the air. 
They do not open 
to the moon.

Great bumble bees, 
Zeppelins in flight
with black-red lion manes, 
ancient bombus, 
hymenoptera, sacred 
lovers, bringing joy, 
browse upon your 
fruitfulness.
They do not fly 
in moonlight.

Sweet mallows,
turning to the sun each day, 
your beauty quickly fades. 
You do not open 
to the moon.