Tag: Poetry
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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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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Teaches Poker(A Lesson in Literal Interpretations) The Old Woman lays the tools on the table: one metal rod, a sack of kindling, and a single, determined match. “Right,” she says,“The book said ‘Poker’is a game of fire and nerve.” The cat stares.Its expression suggeststhis may bethe stupidest momentin human history. “You poke…
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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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1008: The Liturgy #2
Liturgy for the Inherited Weight(for those who must sort through the past) I. The Objects That Remember Every object in this house carries a memory,one we pressed into itwith our hands, our habits,our refusal to let go. The chipped mug she dropped at seven,her grandmother kept using,as if the crack were not a flawbut a…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat On Lavender(Or: A Feline Critique of Sanitary Accommodations) The Old Woman kneels in the evening light,gloved hands pressing soilinto a glorious blue-glazed pot,the scent of lavenderrising like a prayer. The cat sits beside her,tail curled neatly around his paws,observing the air,a discerning criticat a garden show. “So much better,” he says,“than the dusty…
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0308: The Liturgy
Liturgy for the Dogs on the Windowsill(Rye Harbour, Sussex: where the sea keeps its secrets) I. The Threshold of SaltThe house faces the harbourthrough windows etched with winter’s salt,the brine of decades pressed into glasslike a watermark of all that has been lost. Salt in the hinges.Salt in the frames.Salt in the hems of curtainsthat…
