Zoo

By Christian Ward

Zoo is an engaging collection of surreal nature poetry from prize winning poet Christian Ward. From the humble mussel to moths and tigers, there is something for everyone in this collection. 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Ward
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227405326

Book preview

Mussel

Every shell is dipped in night. 

Place an ear against the ceramic

to eavesdrop on fox squabbles, 

crows watching rubbish bags

left split open like unfinished 

operations, brambles unfurling 

their fruit. Humans, extras 

with no dialogue. Open every 

shell to reveal day - the glazed 

pottery, a perfect sky. Of course, 

there's the meat: An orange muscle 

on a ready-made plate. Quiet, 

contemplative. I threw up the sea 

the first time I tried it. Didn't know 

I was chewing its prayer. 

The Mussel Speaks

Though our shells

are the perfect shade of grief,

one taste of the meat

confettied with herbs 

and doused in white wine

is enough to make

even greyclouds politely bow

and head away. Yes,

naysayers will say it looks

like a wad of chewed gum,

but these are the sea's ear bones.

Listen to its secrets,

how they can dissolve you

among the currents 

and rebirth you as a basking shark

or the humblest of anemones 

disguised as stars.

Oyster

Stolen from winter, an oyster shell

carries the sounds of animals

shoeboxing in trees, beaks

hacking frozen soil, a solitary fox 

scouting and people hidden 

like summer clothes in the attic

in its rough grey surface. Carefully 

prise it open to reveal the quietest day. 

Swallow the meat. Avoid comparisons 

of brine or rust - the sea invented this 

to help us understand its loneliness. 

European sprat

Sprattus sprattus

Though big as an index finger, 

we hold up the sea. 

Our shoal is never forgotten 

since we know every child

might be reborn as a shark, 

a whale, the kraken. 

Cod

We're like accountants -

essential to prevent

the collapse of civilisation.

Ignore the grayscale skin

stolen from the Atlantic sky

or our lemming-like mating

ritual. There's excitement

in the predictable. One taste

and you're hooked. We'll always

be your unpaid butler, reliable

as butter, as rain, as tarmac.

Sizzling like hot tarmac in the pan,

watch how we can absorb anything

into our flaking cliffs of flesh.

We're not really fish, you see, but horses. 

Look how we'll drag you behind us 

in dreams, while you beg us to stop 

prattling on about the book value 

of your precious little life, how 

meaningless the profit and loss

of every daily action might be.

Pike

April. You were found lifeless

by the shore, guts already unspooling.

Eyes backflipped, water black as a chess

piece. Ominous, perhaps. A god fooling

around with us, wanting to shake

our innocence, our childhood belief.

We didn't understand that could be taken

so