[ai] might* [ɪ] split* [ʌ/ ʊ] under* [ɒ] bog* [i:] creel*

[əʊ] oak* [e/ eə:] web* [ɑ:] cart* [æ] black


Bog Oak

A carter's trophy
Split for rafters,

a cobwebbed, black,
long-seasoned rib


under the first thatch.
I might tarry

with the moustached
dead, the creel-fillers,


or eavesdrop on

their hopeless wisdom

as a blow-down of smoke
struggles over the half-door


and mizzling rain
blurs the far end
of the cart track.
The
softening ruts


lead back to no
'oak groves', no

cutters of mistletoe

in the green clearings.

Perhaps I just make out
Edmund Spenser,
dreaming sunlight,
en
croached upon by


geniuses who creep
'out of every corner

of the woodes and glenne '
to
wards watercress and carrion