Common or Garden Poets #11 – Kit Kelen inviting Angela Costi


inviting Angela Costi


fragments revised from ‘the village is a garden’ at Mesana

Paphos District, Cyprus


                                                   and I have something to tell you

                                                   which not even I must hear

                                                                     – Yiannis Ritsos



such an honest morning


sun has washed white

what is that tiny bird swings through

under vines in a courtyard glimpse?


it’s an all-day rooster

proclaims from tin shade


tiny lizards

to whom I’ve had no formal introduction

are faster than

call their colour 


a breathless hill’s

good for the heart


I go a little way on

at the edge of the village

come to an oak much older than me

that’s where I’ll seek advice




the olive


abundance, peace and glory


what lives in the olive

is just this season


a certain flit of feather, fur

say opportunity


wide boll of gnarl

our ages blur


flutter adjustment

in the branches


what lives in the olive

a thirst set aside

light throws itself at us


the old ones

writhe themselves around


all cleft

and strong with standing


like a dare to wait

and taste the fruit


it’s bitter now

but you can have my patience


let the blade be with the branch

let the shape be minded



and leaf

is song too


a hill lives in the olive gnarl

whole skies have gathered 


rain fell


let this bark be shot of sun

twig fall to winter fire of night


the tree so many lives

it’s accident and cause we’re here


a wrestle with itself

frozen yoga seems


because we can’t see time

tree’s made of


bend with the breeze

as often laden


think calmly as the tree




a picture of the stillness


a gnarl of stump

could be alive

points its all directions


saw my first snake today

dusty black yay long


add this to the list

of those on the way


flies to me gathered

as movement as sweat


do I deny them hope?

surely I will lie down to die?


a breeze lives in the shade

flutter and the tree takes off


I walk like a ghost through this knowledge

nobody knows I am here




rising to all occasions


pigeons explode from an ancient tree

this happens now and then


there are other days

over the skysill


other worlds

deep in the heart

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