Antonia Clark

On a dusty verge, I search the distance for a bower of green.
I slip under a fence, through a hidden door, beneath a bower of green.

Into a verdant burgeoning, a profusion of piney deeps.
Each frond, each leaf unfurled, a flourish, a flower of green.

Bramble and shrub, riot of ivy and vine, honeyed with musk.
The endless swell of hills in a celadon sea. Hour after hour of green.

Each tangle of root, each struggle of sprout, an invocation.
The mossy bank washed in emerald light, a shower of green.

The moonlit meadow, viridian brushed to a silver sheen.
And at the last, this grassy bed, where I’ll yield to the power of green.


ANTONIA CLARK works as a medical writer and editor. She has taught poetry and fiction writing and is co-administrator of an online poetry forum, The Waters. She is the author of a chapbook, Smoke and Mirrors (Finishing Line Press, 2013), and a full-length poetry collection, Chameleon Moon (David Robert Books, 2014). Her poems and short stories have appeared in numerous print and electronic journals, including Anderbo, The Cortland Review, Eclectica, The Missouri Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Rattle, and Softblow. She loves French picnics and plays French café music on a sparkly purple accordion.