Balance

It tried to grow directly into the teeth of every storm, crouched and twisted, the balance between survival and extinction so delicate.

This post is part of my book-length erasure poetry and collage project on Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book.

Cultural memory

Hugged by woodland on one side
at the end of the day
the purple coastal road
lies peacefully
matelassée clouds delicately touching
the frayed horizon

School dining hall in
negative exposure, hushed

trees trapped in amber
shadows counting down from ten

rows of bated breath, a man-scatter

suffused with warm light

cold high ceiling, the glint of a steel fork

resin and salt mixing

a drop of blood echoing in the stone vault

a wet slap as the sun hits the sea

The problem – poem published @ Rogue Agent

Photo by Sasha Sashina on Unsplash

In April of last year, I wrote a series of found poems as part of a project for NaPoWriMo. One of my favourite poems from this series has now found a home with Rogue Agent.

The poem is based on an essay by poet and science writer Kate Horowitz entitled “Performance of a Lifetime: On Invisible Illness, Gender, and Disbelief.”

I’d like to thank Jill Khoury for her support and Kate for lending me her wonderful work!

You can read the poem on the Rogue Agent website.

Happy New Year

They said the door is always open on to the horizon.

This post is part of my book-length erasure poetry and collage project on Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book.

Paraselene

How you discommode me

you, paraselene
heavenly body with stolen light

I could scratch your age off
with a nail

charges fighting off hebetude
you who talks at coke speed

or not at all
sipping your drink like venom

and expecting an applause
when you over-apologise

how can something stolen throw such shine
as to blind the world

how come when the shade becomes
the place to live

I still feel the urge to catch
a little of your glow.

*****

This poem was written after a prompt I found on Instagram. I was part of the poetry and writer community there, and Chimen Georgette Kouri, one of the talented writers whose work I love to read, had kindly provided these orphan lines to inspire other creatives.

If you’re curious you can find Chimen on Instagram @chimenkouri or on her website Emotional Alchemy.

Rowan tree

One time I woke up and remembered the cold underground room, trunks and chests and boxes with gaping lids filled with coal-black shadow, a rowan tree growing through the ceiling.