Poetry collection
under the arcade
and the floor-length glass shop front:
a green pop-up dome
flanked by a Burberry
suitcase and a sleeping-bag
a makeshift shelter
for Sai from Stratford
with time to invest
in a four-day queue – he’s first
in line for an iPhone 6s
no-one moves him on
or threatens arrest
as it’s not about where
but why you pitch your tent.
Date: 2017
By: Karen McCarthy Woolf (19??- )
All through the afternoon the sound like water pouring into bowls
fills the empty corridors of the house
like an ache spinning through a tooth
eaten, as language is eaten,
from the inside out.
An idea is meant to begin inside you.
Out in the courtyard, sun sprays through the pomegranate tree.
Shadows open like gills on the flagstone,
stir the clover of everything
too slowly in the ear.
Making it equal is too slowly like
an accident or argument. Too quickly the sound of water
falls into itself. Through the empty corridors of the house
I move like a tooth in a bowl, spat
from the inside out.
Language eats its own ideas.
In the evening sun fills the pomegranate tree.
Out in the courtyard, I’m inside or outside.
They are not equal, accident or argument. I hear water pouring
inside out.
From: Hazzard, Oli, Between Two Windows, 2012, Carcanet Press: London, p. [unnumbered].
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=KaZuBgAAQBAJ)
Date: 2012
By: Oli Hazzard (1986- )
From Troubles of The World 