Old farm sheds perfect parallelograms leaning aslant in a frozen dance with the wind.
Evening clouds a slow salmon as you breathe through the gills of the sky.
How easy it is for things to go right to let slip the weight of expectation duck the pendulum of pessimism let it swing into the shadows like a slow swooping bat.
from Tug Dumbly’s “Son Songs” Read More »
upside down you’re a circus gypsy a wanderer on a rope who swings and sings to herself the way an upturned world makes the proper sense
from Patricia Sykes’ “Among the Gone of It” Read More »
snowdrop, then daffodil, pink on a rose branch, green on a climber suddenly parsley then mint
from Laurie Duggan’s “A Kite Hangs Above the Border” Read More »
Virtu L
ce qui ne se voit pas n’existe pas
objet toi Le plus visible
Le plus accessible
Le plus vite possible
hopLa!
tout entier dans son image
comme Narcisse
sans reste aucun
mirez-moi ca
transparence absolue
transparence tue
Virtu L
which is not seen doesn’t exist
object you the most visibLe
the most accessibLe
the most readily possibLe
HopLa! entirely whole in one’s image like Narcissus nothing left over behold id absolute transparency dead muted transparency
from Dominique Hecq and Béatrice Machet’s “Crypto” Read More »
brown crust on white foam at the bogey-hole today hints of caramel
from Clark Gormley’s “Not What You Think” Read More »
No crimes are hidden in the white bathroom of one who washes often and cleans rarely.
from Gillian Swain’s “My Skin its own sky” Read More »
life was blown gently into the silver, gram by gram binding the emerald, enhancing the ruby eyes shining on each finger hammer and file danced at the stroke of midnight solder hissed in between and light taps to the belly, ‘antique accessories when weighed are worth more than the maker’s finger’
for years they have saved but not a single necklace to drape the scrawny chest the hair has turned silver in the making silent and forgotten by the children of time
from Iman Budhi Santosa’s “The Faces of Java” Read More »
I won’t wear red to draw attention, sing or whistle my favourite melody. I won’t linger near the shadowed walls to stir or fret the hungry ghosts, unrested souls trying to recall a life without fear or violence or tragic luck. Their whispers are all sighs and envy as I walk home in open lamplight.
from Rob Shackne’s “A Chance of Seasons” Read More »
Note: an ‘elevensie’ is a poem form with the title in the middle and five lines on either side.
how about I sleep out here tonight final evening let the ropes tighten to the dew hold the shape of days before the road and home inhale me set me once again
to use
on trickier palaver Kent pumpkins after hand-pollination and the herbs we need for winter altar blooms to go in I am already one hand in the pantry broody hen
an elevensie from Kerri Shying’s “Knitting Mangrove Roots” Read More »
being surrounded by the sea is a destiny
it will never turn around
it stands on the reefs, commanding you to sing
you don’t have much
but singing makes you wealthy
because of song
birds fly out from your throat
because of singing
flowers come up through the stones
(translated by Kit Kelen and Fei Chen)