Monday, 22 December 2014

Reservoir

Back fence second coming clock growls low
offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips

I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end
There was always too much sky

Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears
on portacabin walls

Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak

Hands dripping with autoimmunity
a face liquefied
the skin hospital’s lamps

Dead cygnet bones somewhere
and the nest open mouthed

Boy run off by swan in bestial glory

Cup ring on the bench will disappear

Water drowning
baby trees

My monstrous crust lips twitched

The heat my body made
is saying so insect ears tune in
the rushes O


Rhythm of the wires against the mast

7 comments:

  1. Tim Spall as JMW Turner having himself bound to the ship's mast in a storm, so that he may experience extremity; it works.

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  2. yr home page says contact me but no email address? is there something I missed (probably)
    . . .been reading yr posts on TC's website for long while and wonder if I might include this poem
    Reservoir on the Beatitude page of my website (google Tisa Walden Deep Forest). . .
    cool, projective, lyrical -- . . .can contact me at tisawalden@gmail.com

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  3. so Wooden Boy -- I took the liberty of publishing it. . .you're in good company with Corso,
    Lamantia, Hart, Doyle, Kaufman et al. . .again, on the Beatitude page of my website. . .
    I credited it to "Wooden Boy" -- proof it; or if you object contact me. . .Tisa Walden

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  4. That's grand, Tisa. Thank you. Glad you're enjoying the work. I'll have a look at the profile. My email is duncanmjones@googlemail.com

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    2. systematically beginning
      to read th' whole offering

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