{"id":17203,"date":"2018-09-24T08:00:12","date_gmt":"2018-09-24T08:00:12","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=17203"},"modified":"2018-07-29T11:41:23","modified_gmt":"2018-07-29T11:41:23","slug":"jeremy-young-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/jeremy-young-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Jeremy Young"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div>\n<p><strong>Return<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>They used to hang bodies over the black-water creek;<br \/>\npicked bodies of picked men, their entrails pulled<br \/>\nby the birds in greedy jerks. The dead glass eyes watching<br \/>\nover and out to the waves and the clouds:<br \/>\nor with a twist of wind, or the collapse of a gull tugged neck,<br \/>\nthose same dead eyes might turn back, to the landward<br \/>\nfrom which they came, a week or so before.<\/p>\n<p>We step across to the sand, as through a rent veil<br \/>\nwhich locks out the sound of the marsh, and the traffic.<br \/>\nThese riddled sands, caught between the turning tide<br \/>\nin expanse, hold only ourselves and the wind.<br \/>\nWe do not look back, but sometimes down<br \/>\nto the dry, to the empty, to the occasional shell still sealed.<br \/>\nWe do not look back, too tempted by the coldness of the sea.<\/p>\n<p>On each ripple dies a star, combed clean as morning.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Jeremy Young<\/strong> lives and works in Yorkshire. He had had\u00a0work\u00a0published in numerous articles and anthologies, and is a member of the beehive poets. \u00a0His work can be found at <a href=\"https:\/\/t.co\/t5DJ96wysB\">https:\/\/bluemedia68.wordpress.com\/\u00a0<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Return They used to hang bodies over the black-water creek; picked bodies of picked men, their entrails pulled by the birds in greedy jerks. The dead glass eyes watching over and out to the waves and the clouds: or with a twist of wind, or the collapse of a gull tugged neck, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17203","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17203","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17203"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17203\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17452,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17203\/revisions\/17452"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17203"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17203"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17203"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}