20140123

Geraldine Burrowes



re action


severe choking    no   not for me
first sign is numbness 

always a little 
moment of tribute     meanings tucked in 
the past     quietly there

the body like a hair on the wrist     barely 
while upright uptight instantaneous 
scanning molecular range     360 degrees     the sky the ocean 
even extraneous opaque sock greyness    (the other bluish) 
a hint transparent     at the rim the shin’s coral scar 
my knowing the smoothness    his skin    the absurdity of clutching for anything

years later you wonder if your physical almost-not-thereness 
was pusillanimity      (you noted six whiskers he missed )

or childlike again    flight from abuse

we’d all like to think we’re the suave spy 
taking a lashing to case the beat    inside the oppressors head 
grab his remote         detonate the escape 

but my reaction is calm       a convent appeasement       a flying buttress 

there are purists       I might be one 
in the aftermath 
I’m in charge of shepherding 
omission-guilt auto-drives ambulance

when being feels dangerous    a lawless movie  
I didn’t create 
you wake up actually      alive 
a horror every week for a while 

how to deal with 
hearts      fire-jumping containment 
you try to climb in to pilot 
adapting     handling 
talking the issues through with kids

you name it    some eat it     I starve it
you write     you write it      you write it 

the cockpit announcement     a bomb on board 
again you’re holding the baby 



effervescence


the vertical turned horizontal 
in women 
in love 

wild-flower fronded 
shadow-striped lens
to descend 
the rock
face   the tall brick 
walling 
the slow disillusion of bubbles’ 
diverse perspectives 
desiccating dismay 
in everyday art dreams 
or 
the barking con 
-frontational     western 
politicization duration 
of the break
-fast in-
digestion 



not happy letting it all go to hell 


resurgent composing  
she calls it melodic in the car of the beholder he says with a grin 
I already see lights flash on his wings 

I think it’s a voice  I say    a wordless singing in your bottom drawer 
 to pull your head in 

he’s ranting     neck out to break 
the fall     absorbed 
by surroundings stretching 
heads 
to the dark side  
not to lose spot  
or
prize 

what of love bayonetted 
I muse open miked 
green ink lyrics 
strong 
on hand
when the throwing has come 
to ground      a firebird 
success  just the take off  
kids string    right in/to/of spring 
the aftershock hitting grans  

he reminds of the instant 
the dancer explodes     choreographed 
he words up the gaps     he sculpts to throw 
in the ring 
like a lawyer trying to nit-pick a rip 
-tide    lump    in the throat 
zigzagging on shells
africa coasting 
the east 

spice 
in the trade-off of islands melting 
new patterns the whole world streams 

staves waving  
notes not dotted     a six eight feel 
jellies now flourishing up the food chain 
taste like crosses 
between cucumbers and rubbery 
cover bands 
vehicles for others’ 
flavours    almost a 
calorie 
less
loss I say



as you drive down


above the space 
a huge volume of agitated air 
fruit trees everywhere releasing flavours 
understanding connections 
to land 
lightly
like music 
over 
two skulls 
a reflective tilt 
maternal kiss 
from nineteen million years ago 
a launching gantry 
cave in 
the whisper 
well 
in the well 
being well butterflied 

swirling around trunks 
mud proliferates puddles 
shadows of a shrunken 
zygomatic arche 
stretch autumnal 
humanity’s geometry 
tipping over 
numerologists mumble 

the shapes of scarab beetles about 
face      in the final days    black velvet heads
gold armour on blue 




Geraldine Burrowes’ poems have appeared recently in Cordite, Southerly, Rabbit, Visible Ink, Paradise Anthology 5, and Baw Baw Writer’s Pre-Scribes. She is also a visual artist.
 
 
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