Poetry – General

The Poem Shrike [after Sylvia Plath and Jeremy Cronin]

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When the night is dark

When she took it off

Ivory, textiles

a women battered through concussion

The single air of a jealous partner

I – can

I – can not

with my wide brown eyes

and empty hunger

Writing my curses

on clawed, confused paper

Escaping in exotic dishes

to a rejected friends mouth,

waiting hungry in anger

Opened eyes are closed for eating

Her red lips

Peak and suck


drain the last drop of blood from you

Leaving you

driving in the middle of the road

Seeing half-naked things


I saw you[r] (mother) [After Jeremy Cronin]

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That is you – my – I

The pronoun

Is the source of their warning

and the root of

What Do You “Mean”?

The last day I saw you


I – my – screaming

Where Death Itself,

Where women becomes a crime noun

Gacela of the Flight [after Lorca]

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As those who return are often lost in the sea
As the ear is filled with fresh flowers, a speech full of love and pain.

My life has little joy, few kisses

No child’s touch.

I search the landscape of my youth,

Looking for roses in the rugged terrain

Finding instead the bottom of the earth

I have become lost at sea

I ignore the water closing in

And I eat my death.

Quatrain 66 [after Omar Khayyam]

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Hope, threats

Fear of Hell and the Garden of Paradise

One thing, indeed, in all of this life

At least one thing is certain

This life flies

It has fled

And the other life is a lie

At least one thing is certain

All the rest is lies

The detonated dying flower

Once blown out

Forever dies.

Quatrain 23 [after Omar Khayyam]

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And most of all, most importantly of all

Make the most of what you spend

Only what deed, only what act

Before he went down into the ground

Before he came down to earth

Only for the individual

A cloud of dust

Over the Earth

And under the Earth to lie

Wine cannot hold a tune nor a melody nor is it a singer

Nor does its attractiveness linger

And wine, and song and singer lie

Without end


Grave Paper: An Epitaph [after Koos du Plessis]

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All his life he was in transit

On the way from somewhere, travelling from somewhere

Travelling to somewhere

On a trip to somewhere

Travelling somewhere

Persuasion [after Koos du Plessis]

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Tell me sometime,

What are you Going to say, Gonna tell

For each nail, each nail

For each hair, for each hair type, for every hair

Your boss is dead!

And see if they