I am a poet…..until I read the others
the angry ones—throwing down words like big money.
poets for a new world (you don’t say poetesses anymore)
writhing in water caves,
wriggling out of a soft boiled egg—earless fish
thrusting out of a forsaken womb.
into a flim flam world of back-breaking tragedy on the news… and television reruns. fake fake phony phony, set up rip up, pay up— think what we laugh when we kill if we—and be very afraid. Come! look over here—soft grief sells hard fear—.
buzz this buzz and keep busy.
Buzz buzz Busy busy Buzz buzz.
What’s to be done?
Drown it? Drench it?
Down it with beauty?
(Wedgewood and nice table manners)?
Recite Tennyson over the collective voice:
*“…Away! away! profane ones! ye whose days
Are spent in endless sin and error’s maze,…”
something dear has disappeared...lalala murdered over the coast of la la…e coli, Ebola, Deadola…he opened his hand and she placed in it her beating heart… police have issued an amber alert la… and her eyes too—last seen wearing blue trust la la la…so that he may have her wondrous, luminous adoration ever upon him LALALALALALA open fire, changed landscapes, and littlebrownshoes…..in the hands of a person of interest….LA.
Ye mad birds
pecking at hard refusals from the inside
tired of boundaries
compelled to expel
tortured thought snippets—soon beaten into clarity by human chains—ping!
(it only takes a lifetime)
Their war is borrowed
their soul is fine—just rolled in sticky words ( betrayal’s jam fingered offspring)
blue and yellow and earthy-red war painted words
on a naked body.
(It is sad.
It is admirable
It is the condition of those with big eyes
and swollen tongues)
to signify—I am here!
I am here defying clothes
protesting child labour and other travesties.
I will fight
for the right
to express the unexpressable from my very thighs!
sticking out it’s wild-eyed chin and breathing heavy—accept me for all that I have seen; accept me for all that I have done; accept me for all that has been written upon me and all that I have confessed upon you—or not at all! (but please do)
Centuries of black, feather flapping shame has come to….? Curtsy before the poets, like goodly Ambassadors of the dark corners of the universe…. that is where I’m from too. Unlit by constellations—that would mean belonging—to be be part of a named phenomenon like the Big Dipper.)
I am a big dipper—dipping my wounds in cleaned- up lakes
But I prefer not to shine.
shining makes me cry.
by Robin Skelhorn
*(Translation of Claudian’s ‘Rape of Proserpine’ 5,6 from The Poems of Tennyson edited by Christopher Ricks Longman/Norton 1969)