Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
sign me up
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
Good luck! Best wishes! The best of luck!
The very best! Godspeed! God bless you!
Peace be with you!
May your shadow never be less!
We can see through to the other side,
you see. It’s your problem, we know,
but I can’t help feeling a little envious.
What if darkness became unhinged right now?
Boomingly, swimmingly one remounts the current.
Here is where the shade was, the suggestion of flowers,
and peace, in another place.
Our competition is like tools of a certain order.
No one would have found them useful at first.
It wasn’t until a real emergency arose, that someone
had the sense to recognize for what it was.
All hell didn’t break loose, it was like a rising psalm
materializing like snow on an unseen mountain.
All that was underfoot was good, but lost.
From The Poetry Review Vol 94 No 1 (Spring 2004).
"O Fortuna" from Where I Shall Wander by John Ashbery © 2005. Reprinted by permission of George Borchardt, Inc., on behalf of the author.
Vivienne Westwood, a cento
The garment should say: ‘I am this’
A story of itself
It’s just so creative to put a sentence together
Greet me by ‘how lovely you are’ rather than ‘I like your hat’
I haven’t thought properly about dying
But if I were to write anything on my tombstone
It would be ‘The only revolution is culture’
Every time I speak to someone, I assume they understand
How easy it would have been not to lead this life
I could have been a schoolteacher
What you are given for free should not be owned
Love affairs go a long way to helping life pass you by
Behave according to the clothes
Forget yourself and you will become who you are
I am the centre of my look, like Chanel was
Punk was kids having a great time, but for what? I don’t know
If I go into a room and see Pamela Anderson looking incredible
I’m going to be delighted
The sun makes my skin itch when I’m on a bicycle
A nude is never really naked
I know exactly what I would like my legacy to be
Form is always becoming something else
I design for a world that doesn’t exist, you know, one like this but better
I wake up in the morning
And think
People are alive
Making things, children
And apps, they
Are running to one
Another and then my arm
Falls asleep.
Most of the men
Who did not exactly know
They were my father
Are dead
And so
My father keeps
dissolving.
Tonight
Both my sons are sleeping
At their mom’s apartment.
I can’t always feel
My legs
But I don’t want to tell
Anyone. I’m so afraid
Of everything.
When I called Mary
To ask her how Ralph died
I ended up calling Mary
To tell her that Ralph died.
I think I can pretend
To be a person for
Maybe only a few more years.
And after that,
The moon is just going to
Have to defend itself,
The shadows
In the tall grass are just
Going to have to learn
How to self-soothe.
My sons will just have
To learn something
About fathers
Who leave without knowing
They are leaving.
Whether I’m here,
Not being able to feel
My face,
Or not here and my face
Is just the light above the grass.
Facebook
Twitter