<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Conker Trees<\/strong><\/p>\n Wanging the stick up into the conker trees, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Iain Twiddy<\/strong> studied literature at university, and lived for several years in northern Japan. His poems have been published in The Poetry Review, Poetry Ireland Review, The London Magazine, The Moth<\/em> and elsewhere.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Conker Trees Wanging the stick up into the conker trees, it seemed like the best ones hung just out of range, bulging, like wrecking balls, unconquerable, unshifted by wind, their stems unsnipped by sun. Or if they fell, we must have still been in school, or in at tea, having to help […]<\/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-17637","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17637","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=17637"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17637\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17638,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17637\/revisions\/17638"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17637"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17637"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17637"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nit seemed like the best ones hung just out of range,
\nbulging, like wrecking balls, unconquerable,
\nunshifted by wind, their stems unsnipped by sun.
\nOr if they fell, we must have still been in school,
\nor in at tea, having to help with something,
\nso it was just as if the stick had once more
\npattered down amongst twigs and big flappy leaves.
\nIt\u2019s not like we didn\u2019t have enough to thumb
\nopen, to treasure like pebbles smoothed by sea;
\nit\u2019s just they were better, they held a plenty,
\nthe kind of heft I find myself reaching for
\nstill in the mind\u2019s higher canopy, as if
\nthe pencil won\u2019t fall flat, the page turn like a leaf.<\/p>\n