Two Poems

by Christian Ward

Mussel

Every shell is dipped in night. 
Place an ear against the ceramic
to eavesdrop on fox squabbles, 
crows watching rubbish bags
left split open like unfinished 
operations, brambles unfurling 
their fruit. Humans, extras 
with no dialogue. Open every 
shell to reveal day - the glazed 
pottery, a perfect sky. Of course, 
there's the meat: An orange muscle 
on a ready-made plate. Quiet, 
contemplative. I threw up the sea 
the first time I tried it. Didn't know 
I was chewing its prayer. 

Previously published in FEED

Glasswing butterfly 
Greta oto 

Every leaf and branch
is a television set
for the Glasswing. Observe 
how it frames its subjects
perfectly: a battalion 
of leaf cutter ants, bats
remixing the night with their sonar, 
a praying mantis atoning 
for its sins, parrots dressed
in sunsets. It is the camera
and photographer, a priest 
without a collar. Every wing
movement captures a story - 
even rainclouds heavy 
as a bible, endless as grief.

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Christian Ward is a UK-based writer who can be recently found in Red Ogre Review, Discretionary Love and Stone Poetry Journal. Future poems will be appearing in Dreich, Uppagus and in BlueHouse Journal. He was recently shortlisted for the 2021 Canterbury Poet of the Year Competition and the 2021 Plough Prize.