top of page
  • Route 7 Review

Geoff Sawers—No Horizon, Night and Morning

In a white storm the trees were whipping

back and forth and you dreamt or thought you dreamt

you were adrift on a lake, high hills all around

your hair plastered to your face and

the hills were groaning, they were hill-high waves

you were right in the O now, the middle letter of storm

with the waves falling in from all sides and you

were a singularity until you slicked out

drained down some surreal chute

one lick from the tongue of a capital Q

and wound out on a beach in uncanny silence

unthreatening shreds of cloud in the east

red rags in the dawn and unless again

you bang down your cup on the café table

this was another trick you were still

drowning, calling, the calm phase

once you've given up but no

you could feel your feet still in the water, face dry

doors were banging in a sudden hot wind

a new storm and this was coming from inside you

you opened your mouth

and out came the fire

Geoff Sawers

Geoff Sawers lives in Reading. He is the author of 'Silver in my Mines: Peter Hay's work for Two Rivers Press' (University at Buffalo, NY, 2021) and is working on a book about the Welsh writer Dorothy Edwards. He has published work recently in Culture Matters, The Times Literary Supplement and Unstamatic. Born in 1966, he was only diagnosed as autistic in his fifties. His paintings are on Instagram @geoff.sawers


Recent Posts

See All

Riley Mayes—after hope

there is no lily of the valley / there is only one trash bag / lifting its wings / aimlessly down the canal / adrift in air seethed


bottom of page