Posts tagged ‘2002’

Saturday, 19 February 2022

It Is Here by Harold Pinter

(for A)

What sound was that?

I turn away, into the shaking room.

What was that sound that came in on the dark?
What is this maze of light it leaves us in?
What is this stance we take,
To turn away and then turn back?
What did we hear?

It was the breath we took when we first met.

Listen. It is here.


Date: 2002

By: Harold Pinter (1930-2008)

Thursday, 2 December 2021

Ends by Matthew Gerard Sweeney

At the end of the earth the Atlantic began.
On good days trawlers were flecks far out,
at night the green waves were luminous.
Gulls were the birds that gobbled my crusts
and the air in my bedroom was salty.
For two weeks once a whale decayed
on the pale beach while non one swam.
It was gelignite that cleared the air.

The uses of village carpenters were many.
Mine made me a pine box with a door,
tarpaulin-roofed, a front of fine-meshed wire.
It suited my friend, the albino mouse
who came from Derry and ate newspaper
and laid black grains on the floor.
When he walked his tail slithered behind.
And when I holidayed once, he starved.


Date: 2002

By: Matthew Gerard Sweeney (1952-2018)

Thursday, 28 October 2021

Depths by Richard Thomas Moore

Once more home is a strange place: by the ocean a
big house now, and the small houses are memories,
once live images, vacant
thoughts here, sinking and vanishing.

Rough sea now on the shore thundering brokenly
draws back stones with a roar out into quiet and
far depths, darkly to lie there
years, years—there not a sound from them.

New waves out of the night’s mist and obscurity
lunge up high on the beach, spending their energy,
each wave angrily dying,
all shapes endlessly altering,

yet out there in the depths nothing is modified.
Earthquakes won’t even move—no, nor the hurricane—
one stone there, nor a glance of
sun’s light stir its identity.


Date: 2002

By: Richard Thomas Moore (19??-2009)

Tuesday, 20 April 2021

[A Seagull] by Lorin Ford

a seagull
claims the sandcastle …
incoming tide

long drought –
boulder lichen
holds on

seagulls vs plovers
on the outfield

even the names
in the shade have faded –
memorial park

express train
a hag’s apparition
at the window

anzac parade –
swallows swoop over
the eternal flame


Date: 2002

By: Lorin Ford (1947- )

Sunday, 21 March 2021

Four Winds by April Bernard

At least that many buffet here, and I
erect as the monument despite my hope to be flattened.
If only the winds could take the horse-sobs
that heave from me, wind-whipped
without the grace of speech; if only
these small creatures with amused, skeptical eyes
could offer me their chittering, their business
of fetching and nesting in the fields.
One day I fear the barometer’s shift
will shatter the surface of the vessel,
jarring me into bloody words—catastrophe
will fill the strophe then—
Unless, winds, you take my speech and rend it
into untranslatable rainy hootings.


Date: 2002

By: April Bernard (1956- )

Monday, 15 February 2021

White Rose by Tom Pickard

you gave me a white rose
put the lamp on the stove
it caught fire
the I Ching said
thunder above the lake
lightning in Baker Street

switched on the cooker
and blew a fuse
blue flash
you see
the whole experience
is electric


Date: 2002

By: Tom Pickard (1946- )

Thursday, 17 December 2020

I Can Be A Bird by Rita Odeh

I can be a bird
If you promise not to be
A malicious cage.


Date: 2002

By: Rita Odeh (1960- )

Wednesday, 4 November 2020

Low Voices by Yu Ouyang

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

They are twinkling there, gathering together
Separated by a distant universe

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

They are dancing in the bonfire
Their lengthened shadows leaping in my face

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

The forest cut down neatly
The mountains remaining still

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

When there is only a single light on
The night is ten times as dark

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

Thnings that you are searching for have not been found
But things found have been lost

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

When the moon is shedding its light everywhere
People are asleep

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

Music has invaded the soul
And the wilderness is occupied by passions

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

The entrance is on the left side
But the exit is somehow on the right

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

The listener finds it hard to open his mouth
And the speaker opens his mouth but has nothing to say

If I can see them
They must be able to see me

The rain chases the wind
The spring follows the autumn in close steps

If I can see them
Can they really see me?


Date: 2002

By: Yu Ouyang (1955- )

Tuesday, 27 October 2020

Crawdads on the Styx by Rodney T. Smith

In mud the gray of brain matter
they raised their slobby towers
and crawled about, ten-limbed, in armor,
as if rumor said the mad Achilles
still haunted the shore and current
bringing death to every trespasser.
We wanted to boil them scarlet
and rip off their heads for the meat,
the poor boy’s succulent lobster.
We wanted to be ancient warriors
with gold and girls and honor.
At night we’d dream them back
and scavenging, all claw and scamper,
their soggy nests the surest gate
to enter the life of the hidden river.


Date: 2002

By: Rodney T. Smith (1947- )

Tuesday, 30 June 2020

We Are Not Responsible by Harryette Mullen

We are not responsible for your lost or stolen relatives.
We cannot guarantee your safety if you disobey our instructions.
We do not endorse the causes or claims of people begging for handouts.
We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.

Your ticket does not guarantee that we will honor your reservations.
In order to facilitate our procedures, please limit your carrying on.
Before taking off, please extinguish all smoldering resentments.

If you cannot understand English, you will be moved out of the way.
In the event of a loss, you’d better look out for yourself.
Your insurance was cancelled because we can no longer handle
your frightful claims. Our handlers lost your luggage and we
are unable to find the key to your legal case.

You were detained for interrogation because you fit the profile.
You are not presumed to be innocent if the police
have reason to suspect you are carrying a concealed wallet.
It’s not our fault you were born wearing a gang color.
It is not our obligation to inform you of your rights.

Step aside, please, while our officer inspects your bad attitude.
You have no rights we are bound to respect.
Please remain calm, or we can’t be held responsible
for what happens to you.


Date: 2002

By: Harryette Mullen (1953- )