Pete Spence

A Poem Starting With A Misquote
From A Bill Berkson Poem.

an extremely long cloud
shaped like a cloud
& not a tiger with a toothache
chased by an armless dentist
i mean harmless
he is waving a chair about
does he want the tiger to sit?
is the tooth amused?
how many tooth-picks
made from a chair?
whittle      whittle


a big blue sail
with a cloud
crashing into it
surprising no one

Africa trots through
the woods animato
somewhere someone
listens to Saint-Saëns

even the most vocal
birds are stunned
as the piano dances
through the woods

some fine staccato
moments are about
leaping in and out
of the shadows

some variations
trick or treat
play through the
flummoxed space

a coda is slowly
building in the hills
colouring brightly the
impassioned leaves

Summer Arriving.

Spring and the leaves
are a little promiscuous
time to take out some futures
on good shade
Summer is just over the horizon
tinkering around out there
waiting for us to give up
this long cold Winter
that just hangs on continually
dampening the mood
we want to signal
a corner we need to get around
and watch the great outdoors
take up everything Summer can offer

Where's The Herds of Salad?

where's the herds of salad?
we have found a nice patch of Samosa's
then some very twisted Calamari trots by
through a field of Pavlova
after a hot summer we find
a field full of Baked Beans
what is this place i've come upon?
i think i'll go skinny dipping in the Plankton

Wrong Number.

i see the telephone approaching
its wires are loosely free
tossing wrong numbers into a plagiarised sky
the airs are getting full and simmering
defacing clouds collapsing mountains
the traffic has all fallen on stops a stilled orchestra
like watching a rock go by in the moss haze
where someone is whistling a few deciduous songs
like cracks in the day letting some light in
slightly blue like a sample of the sky
with no wires attached what was the message
now it is rusting into the distance
a metallic game of flotsam maiming the landscape
wires and loops filling any available space

Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, editor, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.

A collection of visual poetry, 5 X Y, was recently published by Red Fox Press as part of the C'est Mon Dada series.
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