I was reading a poem in that upstairs sunlit room
when I looked up and thought I saw you, Harry,
standing beside the window across from the apartment
where laundry hung outside like a fireman’s ladder snaking
Take the Dasslers, for example: even with
a buggy and two horses they were walking –
leaving it all, turning their backs, quitting
What you say
could very well
Now you have seen the elephant and heard
from an ex-student who blogs an elegy
to his lost left leg (his transfemoral amputation),
and a friend (you visit him in emergency)
The Peter Porter Poetry Prize – now open to all poets writing in English – is one of our most prestigious prizes of its kind. Read this year’s four shortlisted poems.... (read more)
You are seething; I am worried.
We have read the Greek myths.
This anger of yours feels like
a distant thunderclap
I take a straw broom to the damp leaves on the side path.
The concrete pavers are stained and dirty as they have been
for much of the year. Stooping allows me to see
What’s missing from this floor?
The furniture, but also the reason
Cento after Peter Steele
Is this not running wild?
Silk-white ashes of dream and film
nerve into drama −
into darkness and its minotaur