13.11.15

but it’s no use
he thinks

to count among the friends
and relatives
who were lucky enough
to walk through the hinges of
someone else’s history

it’s no use
to live the life
as if the life
was the only life

it’s no use
to be afraid

it’s no use
to spill coffee on the floor
to break a pencil
to drink a can of oil
to claw at one’s shoulder
to picture Yeats’ tomb

it’s no use
to live the life
as if the life
was the only life

it’s no use
he mutters

but
is there still use
for a clogged throat

is there use
for a mechanical heart

is there use
in yellow saliva

is there use
if we still find the poem


The Aftermath

I yield.
Lay down your weapons
Take back the songs – for they are yours now
Release your promises from my house
And mine shall retreat at once
And if one should be found
helpless and discovered
It should be returned to neutral ground
And left there.

I yield
As should the kings of a definite stalemate.
Your terms and conditions shall now exist
outside of me
And wherever met should
leave the premises immediately
Or be actually annihilated on sight
– I do not doubt that such measures
will be enforced as well
Under your now different law.

I do not mourn or regret our law
Nor will I fight for it
Nor will I regret it
But do not ask me to now abide
by any of your decrees
However slight the coincidence with my own ruleset,
My coldest winter, my law of relativity
May be.

Let it come to pass that we now are orbit-free suns
Nailed to our own correct centres
Spinning our own correct ratio of existence and emptiness
And all that’s in between
Around us

And it is of no consequence to know
Which one will burn out first
Or outburn the other
In whatever way a star may decide to go

Given that as I burn out
I do actually burn
In all allowed radiance
And that shall be enough.


“Recognition,” by Kate Clanchy

Great poem.
Listen to it.

And buy random poetry anthologies to find poems like this one.

Belly up, it's A Poetry Feed.

This one could be a girl I know but somehow younger.

Something like this has happened to me every time I’ve traveled or moved someplace totally new:  I’m in a library, train, pub, museum–some crowd–and every person in my periphery is someone I know. For a split second. Until I look. Which I can’t help doing over and over.  Sometimes I’ve made other people look too, my swivel-head has been so pronounced.

Is there a language from which we could steal a word, schadenfreude-style, deja vu-style, for this reflex?  Or for the frisson of disappointment and nostalgia that comes right after, when you realize you’re still among strangers? (Frisson? Nostalgia?  Not quite it.)

Anyway, I like “Recognition” because it means I’m not the only one.

It’s in Kate Clanchy’s book, Slattern (Picador, 2001).

View original post


01.07.2015

today
I have no words
on offer
to offer

there
are so many of them
words everyday
but today

there is but only
no key holes
for any one
to strap onto

and turn
your arm into a wound
of importance a wound
of actually being there

no wound to tell
if some one bled
no wound to tell
if some one bred

no wound
to tell the living
from the dead
today

path words lead
no where not
even dead ends

words uncovered will
help covering
the burial

but
not today


Poem – a poem.

This is a poem.

It is so because I say so.

Therefore I say so.

Therefore it is so.

It is made of sentences.

These sentences are all simple.

You can understand them.

You can even write them down.

But it is my poem.

It is my poem because I said so.

Sometimes it has rhymes.

Sometimes not.

It is straightforward.

It is what it means.

It means what it is.

You will make it yours after the first reading.

(It will still be my poem.)

It is simple.

It is straightforward.

So I ask you then.

What

is the point.


Lunar Launches

As usual, Paul not only provides good insight and good points, but does so in a very pleasant format.

Also I’m in it, so this is yet another ME ME ME ME post.

Lunar Poetry is a good mag. Long live Lunar Poetry.

Peace.


Dystopian/Post-Apocalyptic – Along the Winter Rails: 03 – “The House of Sugar & Dust” – by Fanni Sütő

An instalment from my girlfriend’s ongoing post-apocalyptic series over at Calamities Press !

CALAMITIES PRESS

I stepped out into utter silence; the yard of the station was empty and even the wind held its breath. The grey storm clouds overhead moved closer to each other, cuddling together like a flock of frightened birds. I shuddered. There was something in the air, a gathering electricity, a silence before the storm. I reached into my pocket for a sunberry, hoping that with the warmth some calmness will also spread through me.

It got a little bit better but I couldn’t shake off the unease. It was strange, I had been walking for around a week but with every step I took I seemed to leave my integrity behind and was becoming someone – something else. My senses grew stronger and the small changes in the world around me started to make sense. I was becoming less the girl Hail and more a part of the scenery, a…

View original post 693 more words


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