7 [postcard]: portrait photograph of Walt Whitman (credited to Mathew Brady, 1860) Casey A thoughtfully sent this from Seattle. In the border frame she has written, brilliantly - v v Double ewe u u w Thoughtfully, because she is a good listener and, brilliantly, because marginalia is where she blends her work into … Continue reading Mirror (7): Three Christmas Mornings.
I drank Christmas tea this evening and it made me smile. A cinnamoned and gap toothed smile in summertime. I wondered, at the window of an old man, would the stars still be burning in fifty years time? And would there be Russian cake today, as advertised on a chalk sign in the town.
The good folk at the excellent FREE VERSE REVOLUTION are kindly featuring one of my lyric/poems presently. Thank you Kristiana! one morning, at the table, over breakfast, naomi mentioned a name i’d never even heard before. she told me, he is a captain, at the garrison – she’s come to his attention. and … Continue reading
the very last words that she heard were, “hey, man! they’ve just landed!” it was late one night in ‘69 we laid her out on a big blue blanket. we carried her down to the beach through the town, there was a storm brewing on the atlantic. the needle dropped down and i heard the … Continue reading Side 2 of Beggar’s Banquet.
the air stirs with rumour of the submarine halved in the harbour. brows furrow and palm-flattened charts appear. below the sheltered walls, an aria - an iron-throated chorister. archaic; rises, floats, fades, and disappears. (photo: nick reeves - south shields pier)
Night rattles the tiles, the street glass roils, reflects traffics of cars, faces. Moon, too, yes. But, no star arcs in raindrops; shoeshine puddles even the paving. Trainbent, late, and suddenly lost. Of the first to cross the mouth of the concourse, I ask direction, but with apology he passes without pause. A near full … Continue reading box of light.