The Field At Night Poem by Ross Mackay

To the field at night,
yellow crisp moon dips its paintbrush,
into the tar sea of grass.
Sombre spectre in woe,
banging the gates at the bottom pasture,
drying her eyes on white.
Glow of floating dust,
tempting strangers from the path,
to be lost to the dark.

--Rags of the angel cast the only light,
-In sight,
-there are ghosts out tonight.

In the fogged sky,
the eye of yellow endlessly watching,
old man of heaven.
No human features,
just a violent breath now and then,
when trees turn electric.
The anger it sounds,
sweeping the ground back and forth,
the vein of the road.

--His lust causes the ground shake,
-in date,
-vagrant souls come to wake.

Flowers like cotton,
little people amongst the grass,
play out their routine.
Singing in the valley,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Ballad of the Elfin Knight.
The smell of hearts burning,
the eyeless woman calls my name,
the churchyards moan.

--mother loads the water of white,
-rope tight,
-there are ghosts out tonight.