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old man in a tizzy
the cold
not in
the bones
not yet
but still
there is a winter
feel
to now
there is
a craving
for mulled wine
for strawberries
cream
of full summer
and attendant
lips
shit
a maudlin
passion
is a wasting
of scarce days
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en passant
don’t go that road
said baleful archibald
the dykes
are wick with corpses
and the ravens
fat
if you get past
the ring o bells
where sup
the resurrection men
and lodge
morticians
with their half-starved nags
you’ll reach
the kennels
of the wolf-eyed dogs
that hunt
on nights when
moon is on the wane
i said
there is
no other way
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the mona lisa smiles
he stands back
from the easel
nods
she climbs off
the stool
waddles to stand beside him
with quivering jowls
‘no smile’
she queries
he winces
at the fetid breath
pouring
from between
crooked
blackened teeth
‘perhaps not’
she agrees
hands him
a heavy purse
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Milner Place at the Humber Mouth 2007 | Photo by Maggie Hannan
naked invitation
steal that hour
when all the trappings
of a world
are pit-cast
lie
naked
harboured
in a skin
let loose
the nearest thing
to truth
with swivelling eyes
quiet sit
seeking no lies
amongst stars somnolent
that stretch
across the wind
and of their raging
be assured
naked invitation
is also the title for Milner Place’s latest collection. Obtainable from the publisher, [...]
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The sign of a good poet is that he lives in the House of all Myths. His walls are plastered with ancient stories the way some houses are decorated with paintings of the old masters. The stories are concocted of known and unknown signs and on dark and stormy nights the poet has [...]
Filed under: Milner Place, Todd Moore
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The sign of a good poet is that he lives in the House of all Myths. His walls are plastered with ancient stories the way some houses are decorated with paintings of the old masters. The stories are concocted of known and unknown signs and on dark and stormy nights the poet has [...]
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the ways of the wind
this wind
said chico lopez
darting an arm
from his serape
to spoon from a bowl of frijoles
spent
last night with ice
true
belched beltran oviedo
over his beer
but now the sun’s
got its dick in her
she’ll soon
lie quiet
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Filed under: Milner Place
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The road to Damascus
All along Jensen Avenue poverty had spilled
out of the houses, even the dogs and cats
had caught it and a harsh and sulfurous light
had faded the T-shirts of the jobless welders
and the blouses of their pubescent daughters.
The newsagents on the north-west corner
didn’t sell wallets, and the glass case
full of pens and watches was [...]
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