top of page

Sowing Season

by Oran Bailey


The valley lies in anticipation

for the pendulum swing of Saturn’s sickle—

the signal of his harvest.

The stench of summer’s corpse

clings to the golden wheat fields:

the stage where he will claim his charge

to feast upon.

His wary eyes search

for the one who would again make him

“dethroned and fugitive”.

He will never learn.

He will never change.

He jumps at the sound that will herald his end,

the rumble as you roll your stone up the hill.

And I picture you smiling

as those panicked jaws extend

to taste his freedom,

his immutable kingdom, crumbling

unknown to him

as I am plunged into everlasting darkness.

He will never learn.

He thinks he will never change.


Want to get involved? We are accepting submissions for Issue #5, Mythology, up until May. Contact for all enquiries


bottom of page