Anthony Watts – five poems


Green couples share
their bathwater. She naturally
is first to enter (dirty man-water
holds no appeal for her).

He, on the other hand, is pleased
to yield to her water’s warm embrace.
He sinks back with a sigh, closes his eyes –
is again a baby in the womb.

A Wasp

Sleek machine, quarrying
for cider in the apple’s flank – lean tiger,

squeezed into a bodice, unable
to articulate its roar,

but still fearsome, still
flying its colours.


When wren flew
from the carpenter’s chisel

she ricocheted

from cover to cover
amongst the flowers

for just so long
as her momentum

Wood Pigeon

With a flap of his cassock, a plump
cleric lands on the lawn.

He picks it over
for tasty morsels of scripture.


I am a passive smoker
of bonfires. Find me
standing downwind, eyes closed against the sting,

inhaling deeply,
letting the sweet ghosts
of summer waft through me.

A member of the Fire River Poets, Anthony Watts has been writing ‘seriously’ for nearly 50 years. He’s won prizes in poetry competitions and had poems published in magazines and anthologies. His latest collection is The Shell Gatherer (Oversteps Books, 2011). Anthony has lived in rural Somerset for most of his life and has no plans to leave.


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