Two Poems by Matt Haw

Hard Frost at Stibakken

The foxed rowan berries

the last of summer’s reds
at last gone over    

a wrinkled plum falls   
an apple     & the jar full

of cigarette ends suspended
in frozen rainwater     is held

mid-shear on the table    

the air is so clear I can see
for distances that drink blood    

to the pale sun buttered
peaks of the interior

that seem to call lone birds
in their direction

I thought I too was alone
but this morning footprints

crossing the frozen grass
& later voices in the lane

does anyone live in the yellow house?

not a soul

Crossing the Pollen

Polaris visible          then not   
through swaying pine & scudding cloud

spindrift hauls cresting waves
into the skiff that has sprung a leak

under swaying pine & scudding cloud
with everything I own in a pack in the bow
of the skiff that has sprung a leak

all the ports behind are closed now 
& everything I own is in a pack in the bow

spindrift hauls cresting waves

all the ports behind are closed

Polaris visible          then not

Matt Haw is the author of two pamphlets, Saint-Paul-de-Mausole (tall-lighthouse, 2014) and Boudicca (Templar, 2021). His work has previously appeared in The Rialto, The North, Anthropocene, and Lighthouse. He divides his time between Norfolk and the west coast of Norway.