New Zealand Poetry - Publishing Poetry From Aotearoa poetry posted here was originally posted on http://poetry.org.nz
Search This Blog
Contact Form
Abandon.
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
I tremble goodbye to ground as a banner unbound in wolfish uplifts; undone by the shrinking farm of faces, breathing in the changeling depths beneath http://bit.ly/2F9nugl
I used to have a drinking problem: I always ran out before I’d had enough. And I brought too much, and drank beyond the usefulness of alcohol—people getting drunk happily releasing as they go. I used to have a problem with unanimous. No day belonged to when I wasn’t really sure the Sun was not a Router— in a world built for fiction; I started off determined that this wasn’t Evolution but Addiction— people growing out of each other copious in starlit, through disaster, and audit, and economies borrowing and borrowing, for warmth, for wart removal, the environment, the burrows and bunkers and stations, colliders, soldiers, stalwart psychoanalytical conclusions made by leafy large windows about Pensions. I used to stand in lightning with a rod, a storm Chaser, a hail gazer in safety goggles, icy tic tacs loud in the mouth; I used to get my teeth bloody hot with the research of the habitats Conspiracy rabbits grew on people, ears and eyes tickled in radio...
blackbird lady to a favourite NZ artist, Susannah MacDonald this lady i know, have never met, she paints the things that come where your dreams leave off giant conical shells of the family volutidae large as touch in the brain the wrapt cape and spindle of their form decayed the growing mouths of shadow drifting with cumuli above a sea of island and blue reflection, painting what your dreams have left off this lady draws, have never seen, and wings begin to thrash she paints the blackbird as first you heard it tasting of blue dark drops of evening in the hearing in thicket of head when the moon blows silver round through the eye, know where your dreams go off their way her brush and pen take over, finding what your dreams left off april 2018 [caption id="attachment_894" align="alignleft" width="226"] by Susannah MacDonald with her kind permission [/caption] http://bit.ly/2LJl1fF Poetry posted here was originally posted on New Zealand Poetry
1 five December two16— the PM key stops turning— resigns. 2 prepardernin Hindsight. tv cameras from helicopters, army supplies. the sluicing rains have closed the only functioning road. 3 located where I work, a landfill on a plateau, our store of clothing, blankets, was busted into (by my landlord, in fact, in his 4 x 4, to snap the chain off padlocks at the entrance, and through the broken gates the undressed evacuated backpackers that night the 7.8 charged bull-bar like from Waiau on through Culverden through gears of three dimensions beneath the white bull moon, screeching bull, roaring Kingswood stationwagon, 12.02 a.m., the sparsely attired people fleeing the sea-loud shore this almost Summer night, you will picture accurately tiptoeing in their cellphone torch lights over shards of shattered crockery and sets of glasses, mistletoe-remembered, frosted, shot-sized tumblers and shattered castle stacks of crystal from estates, four or five different languages, kicking thr...
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you, we will get back to you shortly