by Anna McKerrow

The old forms are still there, but look closely.
Aphrodite, cast in plaster and gold leaf
lies on a dusty backroom shelf  in a back-country store.

Born from waves; whisper
a prayer in her shell-like. She will hear,
though ears on Olympus are not what they were.
Currency is slack; the sapphire-robed lady walks
unattended in empty stone halls.

Yet the hazed horizon still speaks strong blue tones
and in it she can still appear, sea-crowned
with pearls and pink-lipped conchshells;
Sweeping waves steadily, hush, hush,
shushing the lulling droves at the shore.

The forms will re-crystallise, given the proper awe.
the old ones still drift on etheric ships, deep in Jungian groves.

Anna McKerrow

Anna McKerrow has had poetry published in Obsessed with Pipework, Cadenza and Sentinel Poetry Quarterly. Six of her poems were made into short films by students at the Central School of Speech and Drama this year, a project she hopes to repeat. She currently lives in London but dreams of moving to live by the sea.
Anna McKerrow

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