Another Inspiration

Tags

feminism, found text, poetic practice, poetry

On reading AnOther Magazine - http://www.anothermag.com/

 

From the land of holographic nails

embroidered broomsticks fly

in and out of sight

disturbing everyone’s vision,

threading her own. The twin

dogs’ four eyes

stare back in black

and white until

his crotch glows and a

thousand smiles shed

more features than

the falling parakeet that

never made the front

page. From Weiss’

cracked flower pots to chocolate

landing sites you’re dip

died in lacquer and

routed to a page

where legs(!)

dangle out of a box

in a seductive, paid for

pose. In a land

of pioneers the

crochet bunny sets

forth its sails for the

the most enjoyed.

carnival song

Distorted out of proportion

the hall of mirrors is silent

at the carnival, when

what he said, she said

only two days ago.

 

At the sound of music,

the smell of cigarettes burn

and scar in-order tell their own story,

on the ride that leads to no where 

or so he said, 

and so she in body told. 

 

Anger and bitterness unlike

the taste of candy floss

which he got, when she had only had 

three days previously -

turns ash to ash on tip of the tongue.

The letter is written in blue ink,

by mighty the sword of the mighty giant,

that makes her mighty burns and promises

dissolve like acid

on a less pleasant trip to the beach,

so he said lets go

and she said lets not

it will only end in tears.

 

Despite the green fields

and smell of the smoke machine

replicating the sound

of guns and the promise of ink

It all fails to produce the roar of

the crowd, the expectation,

it falls noiselessly, the scratch on paper

because she said, what he said 

when the carnival had gone

and only the dry tears remained behind.

problems with being

Tags

body, feminism, form, poetic practice, poetry

1.

She stands watching

 

at the edge observing her

form swaying in and out

of conversation

 

lip syncing the rhymes

 

at the door now

pacing the tongue,

spittle gathers to a

crowd on the lips, two

half curves

 

painted

over with the red language

of promises, of breath, of being

 

at the stage

 

take her hand, rough edges

are stained with blood

 

observers pile up

criticisms, a golden mound of

shadows with

breath warm and more heavier

 

than an audience.

 

On her feet

burnt fringes charred

taste of bitter charcoal

 

it snipped away one evening

at an expectation and

stunned the voyeurs

with action.

 

Now she is present

with syllables chiming

on her teeth for the final call,

for bodily presence to move into

motion..

 

2.

from swaying

to being

to beginnings

 

from observers

to being

to breathing

 

from there

to there

with there

 

from emptiness

to empty

to one handed applause

 

3.

observers sway on charcoal pregnant with applause, waiting to fulfil breath with out breathing, half smiles are half moons on fingertips hovering at the edges transient in a chime to be recognise born into being, on to the stage before the call of bitterness rises and reaches up to her tongue, tongue, lips, tongue, spittle, lips and burnt fringes change the one handed to one bodily presence weighed down by hot air flaming, golden her observes sync there is some harmony in this error some touch of the hand that moves her from the edge on voyage.

 

Major free

Tags

poetic practice poetry

silence plays its fingers
across the lines -
hums in the dawn
touching the surface -
indents on the skin,
evaporate
under the hue of
emptiness. There is
no answer to her call
no answer to the
scent of spring
that shakes herself
into a landscape
of dormancy,
no repeat call to
her notes -
silence is major free
running weightless
running on the edge

She is

Tags

feminism, poetic practice, poetry

There’s no fear beyond the edge of the page

she is limitless,

she is this blank building over flowing with dreams,

she is made of nightmares

she emanates beyond the horizontal structures that say this is safe,

this is haven, this is shouting

She recalls that sound makes her

makes her tremble, until the darkness fills the stomach blooming rolling

over like the tide,

She says this isn’t right.

But what’s natural this state or the ability to hold

and feel?

Authorship champions the left handed text

on the good days, on the negatives it’s anything but

the left and right just in case its the alternative,

she says she remembers why under the swaddles of misbelief

and she is not her or him or her

but a darkened day when I gave birth to fear

and through this birth of fear a building born of

tears gives birth to her, to the garden,

to the garage to she, her own children,

I in the negative, this birthright forgets to leave behind

the black lipstick marks on the edge of the cigarette stick

she makes recall, makes you shudder,

She is building a new framework where she is not she

but dandelions bloom out of fear she will return

Skulls for breath

Skulls balance on the kitchen floor
Amongst empty tins
of spray can
Black speckles clinging like
Incense
To your uniform – its up for sale.

Stepped across newspaper makes the air taste like bitter ink
It’s superbly dangerous
On edge with black eyeliner
Without the smudges
Breath in the freedom from
Between the teeth,
Raw ambition hope surges
On air means more than
Life
Take a bite and feel it
Crumble
Take the dust pan
Grey and solid and sweep it
Under the valance
Material beats breath
Hides hopes silence
On edge
Just
Wait
Ing
Those skulls

Enmeshment (FORm) Pigeons

Enmeshment

this pigeon coop

of form (less) internment

sits along side

intervention

targets waiting

to be given

an incandescent score

board calling for this intern

to act when mesh is a coop-

operation.

 

Equal to the pigeon

the score is formless

and more than art form

and one must

intervene when the pigeons coo

ing goes beyond the metallic

grid and the volume raised

makes a tally of

each cut feature,

cut iron bitter to the

taste sit side-by-side

-by with ruffed feathers

noisy mesh drops to the

floor on target

on form

less the coop

op

eration.

Ironed on mesh

Utlises base

Materials

Pigeons less mesh

Enmesh the feathers of

form.

This blue tag

Tags

form, London, structure

Blue tags mark.out
rain dyed buildings
Showing off their colour
The light stays on
Until the uniforms says.
There’s a welcome that
No one listens to, but
Moves automatically
Rising and falling with
Metal scenery where
The owl shaped tower
Sits and watches over
London. This is
Your departure, your
Whistle and rule.

No body – mapping modern twists

Tags

body, digital, Digital Poetry, feminism, poetic practice, poetry

No Body

On re-reading the informe

Tags

centre georges pompidou

sieve through words
to the detriment
of what’s left behind
when it is
on or not on the tip
of your tongue
to be swallowed and
declasse
it remains formless
in form and out of
sync with the intended
piece which should
no longer have an intention

when sound collapses
in on its self
to explode upon
those exclusions
that dictate the text
that is omitted from
the scene from between
your teeth the mode
is neither negative
or sepia but seeps
underneath your desires
to see endless trails
of paper that fail to
fit through the
tiny holes of the plastic

sieve that’s your mask
that breaks down your
breath that breathes on
your behalf in case you forget
and informs on your
departure from words

Inspired by L’Informe: mode d’emploi, CENTRE GEORGES POMPIDOU,PARIS, FRANCE
http://www.frieze.com/issue/review/linforme_mode_demploi/