Living In A Light Bulb – by Seth Crook

 

Murk then bright. An unreliable schedule.
  Sometimes black for weeks.
Sometimes glares for days. Even then

the view out is never clear, as if we only
  see through a glass lightly.
Though there may be moving shapes,

dark matter. Some think: there’s a plan.
  Others say: it’s random; also
that a bath tap’s running, far out in space.

 

 

 

Seth Crook rarely leaves the Isle of Mull. His poems travel for him. They have appeared in such places as Magma, The Rialto, Envoi, Gutter, New Writing Scotland, The Interpreter’s House, Prole, and Antiphon. And recently in various anthologies from Three Drops Press.

Don’t sing the blues – by Seth Crook

 

sing the oranges,
a finer, more expressive sound.
It is

full of sun
and satisfying sweetness,
even pips.

 

 

 

 

Seth Crook rarely leaves the Isle of Mull. His poems travel for him. This year they have appeared in such places as Northwords Now, Poetry Scotland, The Journal, Raum, Lighthouse, Antiphon, Picaroon, Snakeskin, Ink, Sweat and Tears and elsewhere. (Elsewhere should be a magazine, but isn’t). He currently edits the poem/photo section of The Fat Damsel.

Listen – by Seth Crook

 

 

Put your ear up close.
    Fairies never hear
the ringing of a bluebell.

There’ll be a sound.
    Unless you’re partly fairy.
That’s how to tell.

 

 

 

 

Seth Crook rarely leaves the Isle of Mull. His poems travel for him. This year they have appeared in such places as Northwords Now, Poetry Scotland, The Journal, Raum, Lighthouse, Antiphon, Picaroon, Snakeskin, Ink, Sweat and Tears and elsewhere. (Elsewhere should be a magazine, but isn’t). He currently edits the poem/photo section of The Fat Damsel.