digital collage – Tender Rebellion

A reflective deer

December 17, 2020December 15, 2020 Constance Bourg

This haiga was inspired by images of animals walking through deserted towns during the first lockdown.

Pandora vs the HOA

December 13, 2020November 17, 2020 Constance Bourg

Pandora is rewilding her garden
her front patch of grass burgeoning pluming
masses: meadow foxtail, marrow, white sedge
bordered by slender paths, speckled with a
few brave weeds, chamomile (smells of apples)
and blue star creeper in the shade of the
corpus of the house – the narrow spaces
on either side brimming with tangled brush
ungardening the pedantic
privets, sanitary trees, straight bands of
dejected grass, crouching under the whine
of a lawnmower – this ungodly
insanity, an incursion
on lawn aesthetics – eye-sore neighbours agree. — Created with GIMP

Tea with Hephaestus

December 6, 2020November 17, 2020 Constance Bourg2 Comments

Watching the hands of the crafter
who fashioned me

I see that they are shaking a little
your golden servant in the corner reflects

hands clutching a tray with cups
steaming liquid added

too hot to drink comfortably
at the table where I am sitting

the table where I was born
the crafter limps towards me

stone walls bear down like
harsh words from disappointed parents

you did not have much choice in the matter
a ringing in lame ears

sounds like moulding pressure
to the obedient

I have a strong wish to forgive
the many gifts of relatives

things that linger for a long time
in the blood. — Created with GIMP

Reflections of an Edward Hopper woman

November 29, 2020November 17, 2020 Constance Bourg

Turquoise half-covered dusk; ashen streets through which tram carriages slip like liquid bubbles in medical TPU tubing. Ill light on the lymphatic faces, like they have never possessed an ounce of grace. The few words that are exchanged in groups of passengers sound harsh on the ear. They roil around the carriage for a moment, slosh against the window panes like a swig of beer in an agitated mouth. Then they retreat into the creaks of rails and wheels. At a stop, a young man walks with the uptight, searching strut of a city pigeon towards the exit doors. He crosses a heavy-set man, the top of his head hairless like a black hole, but spring sprouting from his ears and nose. The woman sees everything, but holds on to nothing.

I have been editing and re-working some of the poems from my previous zine The Seeker. But this piece remains unchanged, because someone said it was their favourite piece.

Obliviate

November 25, 2020November 17, 2020 Constance Bourg

When I read Gayl Jones’s poem Deep Song if felt moved to write my own version of it. I loved the way she played with the blues strophe, a style which is very different from anything I’ve written before. I took her poem as a template and transposed an experience of my own onto it as a poetry exercise. I quite like the result.