Category: The Colour of Elsewhere
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2708: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery An Afternoon in the Museum two mummified catsin a dust-free glass casesmudged with prints of childhood, and a right handin formaldehyde. I stand there staringat someone else’s hand, never mind that mineis equally miraculousand still attached, still warm, and I wonder how longthose two cats have…
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1608: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery South Again — V — 25 July: A Lay-by at Denmark’s Border A Log to Sit On I’d have been happyliving here. He agrees. Though you’d be happierin Sweden,he says. He reads melike a doctorwalkinga step behind. All I needis a forest. A pebble beach.A log…
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1508: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery The Remains of Sweden — IV — 19 July: The Remains of Sweden she is long gone,rain washed her into soil,lifted her into sky. but much of her remains. the brittle snapof pine needles.the heavy latchon the iron gate. her bedroom window.the wrap-round porch. beyond the…
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1408: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery Denmark — III — 12 July: Vejby Strand, Græsted the coffeehas gone cold. somewherebetween blackbirdand wren I forgoteverything. — 13 July: Perimeters my grandson walksthe garden’s edge, one sidegiven to the hedge. like a cat,that no backto the open. under his breath,stories battle. the earth warms.fumes…
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1308: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery North — II — 10 July: Osnabrück to Bov, Denmark they flash their yellows,sunflowersin the hedgerows. a young forest,wind and branches,open,close,like a loose hinged door. smooth, he says with extra ooooos.it’s a Santana road, I say. our tyressweep cleanthe Autobahn. a favourite playlist.euphoriasets inat molecular level.…
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1208: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery Leaving — I — 5 July: Periphery People thinkI still see the tree.I don’t — not like before. I see a crow arrive with its voice.Tyres tell me where the road is. Silence isn’t empty.It’s the placewhere the birdsused to be. The world arrivesin pieces. A…
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1108: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery North Tomorrow I’m beginning something a little different here. Last month, on the road north to Denmark and Sweden and home again, I wrote what I saw from the periphery: roads, fields, people, weather, family, things overheard and things passed too quickly to understand. The poems…
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