States of Poetry SA
One minute the bird is cutting a curve – blue
in two, the swift repair of air – the next,
it’s glottal-stopped in the throat of a dog.
Beyond lies the dog’s muscled tongue-hug
forcing the bird in a slavered-leather
slide past the pharynx, down the gullet
into the gunge and gore of a slaughterhouse floor.
From their front row seats in the corporate b ...
Peter Roget suffered from depression, disconsolation,
gloom, melancholia, pessimism ...
He lived a life of bitterness, desolation, grief, irritation,
lamentation, misery, pain ...
Not that there weren’t periods of bliss, exuberance,
happiness, joy, light-heartedness ...
Not that he wasn’t awake to the wonders of the world,
to its beauty, brillianc ...
After Karin Gottshall
Sometimes I say I’m going to meet my mother just because
I like saying it. I like it for its mouth feel and pleasure:
... meet my mother.
It was a phone call at 3 am drove those words away.
Three years later, with no conscious effort on my part,
they followed an overgrown but still navigable path
all the way t ...
At the National Gallery I pay sixteen outraged pounds
to view the Beyond Caravaggio exhibition. No chiaro
to speak of, only scuro, each canvas caked in mud-brown
and bad-blood red on a background of black black black.
I dodge the ladies of the U3A religious art class, decline
the complimentary depressive illness, and in a quick s ...