A Friday Night Near April
Beneath the raised voices sinks the sound of someone leaving…
Author: William Altoft
Writer in and from (and consistently on) Bristol.
Through Soil Of Pain & Song
A million seeds, a million more:
the boy-child sown and scattered.
Flight
I need to learn to look, to gaze, at the pitch
of the passing ‘tween the tunnel’s either end.
Time-Warped Scraps
Time-warped scraps – the dream continues on,
unphased by the approaching of its limits.
Their Stealthy Freedom: a poem for the women of Iran
Wearing, proud, the wind that weaves without,
and now within,
the wistless soul that falls out free across the shoulders.
Approaching Midnight
And here I am in that moment,
leafing through the scattered others.
Their Deeply Familiar Shape: on lions and us
What does our relationship with lions need to become, if this ancient conflict is to come to dusk in such a way that an early morning air that’s charged with the roaring of the dawn chorus still greets the sunrise?
william altoft 