Thursday, October 04, 2012

Happy National Poetry Day!

For five years running Ireland celebrates its National Poetry Day on 5th of October. While I have no new poems to show you I thought I'd share a few poems I've read recently that I enjoyed.

Breakfast
Here I am eating the sky.
I eat the word magpie.
I eat the phrase inner life.
My stomach hurts.
An ancient poet tried to eat me once,
but I was hungrier. Ravenous.
The bees aren’t disappearing.
I’m just eating them all.
I pick stingers and wings from between my teeth with more stingers.
Once, I began eating a bench in the sun.
I didn’t stop there.
I ate the house I first lived in.
And I ate the mouth I first ate with.
Yes, I eat questions.
I eat calcium deficiencies, sunburns, strokes. I eat small pox, too.
I eat riots, yes, I eat small voices in mid speech.
My face is eating a permanent expression of doom.
I learned to eat from a small box on my shelf
that I once watched eat the sun.
Here, I am eating my thoughts.
My heart eats fields of cattle.

by David Wojciechowski published in Dark Sky Magazine the online magazine from Barrelhouse

From Gérard Rudolf’s Orphaned Latitudes
You are Here, 1957 — 1993

(Inspired by Karoo Moons, Richard Mark Dobson
& Ruben Mowszowski. Struik, 2004)

Still dark.
You are in a car.
Black road ahead.
Poles bend past the side window.
Bushes blur. Koppies drift. Far off mountains move slower.
The smell of drought.
You are driving through sameness. The sameness of life.
You speed up. Hot tyres drone on cold tar.
Below the tar, a forgotten dirt track.
Deeper still insects tunnel. Roots. Eyeless things.
Now, dig deeper.
Crystalline forms. Fractals.
Below that shells and bones of ancient fish.
Petrified ocean old as stars.
Walls between mind and matter melt. Glacier slow.

You are here.
You live here.
You have always been here.
Terrene, clotted with rootedness.

You are stone. Sand. Dust. Powder. Particle.
The past is the present. The past brought you here.
Time is the endless fence rushing past.
Yet there are other parts to the moment.
The moment is connected to fading stars.
Solar winds billow beyond imagination. Air in your nostrils.
Air made by plants.
Time here is time termless. Earth and sky.
Dig here and you emerge among the stars.
Die here and you’ll be back in the cradle.
Life here begins where astronomers’ laws never existed.
Then the sun.
It flares over the far horizon.
Swallow scud from a thorny bush.
First light.

ARCHAEOLOGISTS
My temple sweeps are nightly but will go largely unremembered
when the salute comes down from in front of you and covers
your heart
save and continue save and continue save.

by Lesley Wheeler found in the ILK journal Issue Five. Visit her blog here

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