Monthly Archives: January 2015

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


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