Excerpt from The Agony in the Garden

To celebrate the new year I offer this small excerpt from The Agony in the Garden, a brand new collection of poetry published via Wild Goat Press. It can be found here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1676540547/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=blake+everitt&qid=1578036517&s=books&sr=1-1

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Photo by Daniel Geoghegan

Stay tuned for more, including dates for upcoming recitals in support of The Agony in the Garden.



A moment shivers in silver rust


and Holy Miriam an amphora of glass

pours her wine on Vectis’s shores;

a still quarry of storm

to sheathe a hearth’s silence.


And a man must know

that land and sea

are older by far than Christianity.


Miriam’s icon in trees of glass.

Miriam’s cantor my Tree of glass.


As the discord paints a gold-sore’s grain

in a soul that is the stone-leaf’s clover

baked in red clay to dye the wine grey


and feel them run together in harmony.



My word-spires rise in a chalice of quartz.

Your gifting island opens its eye


an Erebus melted in white stalks

to block the flint’s blue glare


knotted in the cull of finite rings

notches bled in the waxen kiss


of opal on ink: these my Wight sparks

grown here in obsidian ears.


Your word-spires spill flint

in the Wight chalice you offer.



I drink blonde ash

in the shade of a saint

whose forehead bears

an ulcer-crown.


I eat verdant bread

though its fire ignites my teeth

as bronze gallows fear ravenous gums.

I am all that’s left: I am Saint Boniface.


Pale bead of memory: I am Saint Boniface

drinking the light

in the soil-teat’s

cauldron of stars.


I drink blonde ash

in the shade of conquest:

my fingers are dirtied

with the slime of power.



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