Throughout 2019, starting in June, there will be a previously unpublished poem by Steve Day posted on this page. 


Poem Of The Month










                                                     Blades Of Grass 



            Blades of Grass

         cut into the footprints of a circular path

         so worn with bare feet it breaks up,

         raked by the scuffling population

         continually going back to a beginning

         they no longer mind treading on.


         I see Britain bleeding green blood into the ground.

         I hear parrots crowing.

         I smell intestine on the edge of knives

         exposed in a yellow meadow of wild flowers.

         Collectively we watch the pageant of Jerusalem

         erected on Mount Pleasant;  

         a sharp edged impasse scratched

         into each corner of occupation at Westminster.


         Pastures of tarmac,

         under a blank canvas, the hard pale mottled

         surface of parkland in memory of King

         George V; a man mown down by the

         lawnmowers of a faraway fractured isle

         that nobody remembers anymore.


         The trick, and there is no denying it,

             a trick exists.

         The trick is to blunt the blade

         and let the grass grow over everything

         that has passed along this path.