Category: Poetry
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Singular
fold tomorrows rain and under the loose world night play blind on young ground ………… one earth full of single stars blown here by unrelenting years those seas of sorrows know written in liars lines saying come and become the past full like her darkest pity to show such thought is mine ………. might I…
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Outside
The medieval bells sound The church light angles in Across our lowly bed But come what sorrow can This confounded appetite Will count its own worth And feed from troughs of minutes
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The Finding of History
[For Jessie Starkey] As a child There was no such thing as history Nothing in our town had patina, texture, age Nothing showed evidence of time long ago The lines were straight The streets were new The houses breathed fresh air only And their bricks were made recently All this was obvious…
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The Only Way Is…
[For secondary school students] When you become a kid You’re always looking UP At grown-UPs And some of them think you should… Keep UP with the others Stand UP when yer told to Live UP to expectations And always turn UP on time Eat UP all that dinner Drink UP all…
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June Haiku
[Photo: Pedro Duarte] [England, 2006] Sitting in the dark A crack in every window Ants investigate …….. Against my own will Hours spent with petty minds And their dirty mouths ……… No feelings or words People tend flowers under That strange lamp the sun …….. Mouth wide…
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Three Haiku (Written in Kyoto, Japan)
[First published in Monkey Kettle magazine, no. 24, 2006.] Portugese song voice Sweet, controlled, but free and light Heard in a night street ………. Transparent rain fell This memory of quite a day One time together ………. A woman’s laughter Whore, princess or girl: the same Evoultion’s poem
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Happy
Your own sun pearl is happy It is deliverance Happy is walking and dropping from nowhere It is weightless Happy is not over there Happy is just about to know you It’s the hand that sayeth go thou go thou And happy is driving through it Recognizing Happy is no one’s measly mantra…
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Prose Poem 28
[Photo: Pedro Duarte] How to fill the hours? The hours and minutes that cluster around demanding to be entered, insisting to be used or abused or taken downtown to be trod into the cracks in the pavement, only returning with intent to malinger, or linger, or finger the night. The hours where only the…
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OTRA VIDA (Note To Self)
[First published at Milton Keynes library, England 2006.] [Image: Hans] So you’ve got this meat of the mouth urge To write to write to self-ignite You hear something that’s never been said An idea given birth to and raised in your head You just think somebody’s got to hear you They can’t live…
Brett Hetherington 