No 18 - September 2002
A slow walk across the bluebell beach,
and through the spring tide blue. We are through ... and through.
If you gave me a rose and kissed my rose-hip lips, I’d reject you.
Your sweet tan hands across my sun-warm hair, across the ocean
of that chasm, the grace and silence where you never speak,
but oh ... your long eyes look at mine.
There, and there ... and there your breath would be the air,
and all the world would pull so deep, and suck at you .. look at you .. with
me, with me.
And there ... floating ... towards the skin of the edge of the world.
It looks like a skin of fire, it looks like an alien skin.
Oh I am certainly aware of your strong romantic attraction to me.
I am full
of this silver fish, I am full of this silicon lie.
I am full of these bluebell branches, you are full of me.
Of everything ... and everything you know of me.
We are the green sea of information, born so free.
How close you’d draw me in the evil night.
Fill me full with fire while I’d lie there cold
and wet. I’ll guide you.
Beached in your bed, shored up by your waves, and you’d love me,
love me ... windswept, open-mouthed and fighting ... the devil in my battle,
struggling with the devil, my sexual hand on his ligaments, my maternal
hand on his [leg muscle].
I never you knew you thought me reckless.
Oh I explore these dead and lightless regions ... forming bridges of my
patches of me pink ... with passion ... places on me gravel, ageing.
Still, you’d take me, roll across me.
To you I smell of the sea-salt air with my piquant pecan senses,
to you, I feel of ... holding it tightly ... and slipping with motion, the gravity
the planet, impressive, restlessly peaceful, the worst case scenario.
Making little fearless hating soldiers out of cells of me ...
having lizard babies, having no babies,
till it’s too late, knowing maybe ... fearing maybe maybe maybe
I am made of the silver blood.
Gone ... you’re holding my poor, sore, cyborg hand.
I’d have to give up to surrender to you ... that will never happen.
- 10th Muse
- Angel Exhaust
- Blithe Spirit
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Obsessed with pipework
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Smiths Knoll
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The