Slow revelation; by Peter Neary-Chaplin

These days revelation comes slow
seeming less to strike
and more to grow.
The temple curtain is no longer ripped
from top to floor
but unravels and frays
decays a little more
with the accelerating days.

And God
speaks less in strident tone
retreating to the substrate,
perhaps preferring time alone
with the odd centenarian whisper
or low groan,
hiding herself again
from the cooling passion of my hunt;
my meanings were like missile attacks;
her answers, now less storied,
are delegated,
spoken in a pattern of crazed luciferous cracks
revealing just the uncreated glow,
an underground lighthouse
on the wrecking rock
to which the winds of her breath blow.

From my collection My Mother is an Old Elephant available on Amazon here.

Free Verse, by Matt Harvey

I spoke some free verse to a friend of mine.
She said, "What's that?" I said, "That? That's free verse."
"I bet it is," she said. "I've heard that line
before. You want to get inside my purse."
"No, honestly," I said, "the verse was free.
It didn't rhyme and neither did it scan."
"So what's the catch?" she asked. "And what's the fee?"
"Trust me," I said, "I'm not that sort of man."
"Oh yeah?" she said. I said, "Look let's forget it."
"Listen," she said, "I'm not born yesterday.
You want something. But you're not going to get it.
I see the sneaky game you're trying to play.
I know my rights. Nothing in life's for free."
So I gave in. And charged her 50p.

Matt Harvey, from The Hole in The Sum Of My Parts