Pete Spence


Lakers Siding. for Perren.

this poem is a stones throw away
the world is a zone 
and virtually inaccessible
we live now in a ruined civilisation
we live at the walls of catastrophe

at the wreckage of Lakers Siding
i lay filming beside the railway track
as a steam train passes through
Perren throws a stone
toward the broken carriages
and half buried railway signals
is this the way forward?
the only way to go?

               [Note: a poem about a film Norma
               and i made when Perren was about
               6 years old mixed with Tarkovsky's
               Stalker film.]



A Little Landscape.

pylons of sky
with some mountains attached
and some fine colours
in the mix



A Short Tale.

a field full of bagpipes and no wind
glitches in the folia and no wind
on a beach a sealed bottle turns up
inside a wind-blown piece of paper
and a hand drawn map where the wind
is shipwrecked on an island without
the wind the coconuts do not fall
the wind could starve the sand dunes
are frozen no wind to move them on
the wind is sitting like an old Buddha
in the doldrums against a rocky cliff



Big Leap Sans Dog.

an albino flea
trots off the couch
onto my black T-shirt
leaps suddenly
into the universe
of a room full
of liveable chaos



Fatigue.

there is a lot of concern hidden in fatigue
heard as dust strides 
nothing melded
let it fall apart and reinvent it
roll it into a ball
throw it at the next small cloud
catch it as it bounces back
now perfectly useful



A Kitchen Poem.

i was way out west in the kitchen
looking for the lost coffee cup
hoping to bring it back alive
for the next fresh roast
smoke signals on a hill near
the horizon just saying "no 
rain today" and the dust gathers
finally i see the white spotted
black torso of the cup browsing
in a fresh bunch of kale



           ).

) we are on page 4 the poem is growing longer
the first 3 pages are barricaded up and i have
totally forgotten what was said and what
direction if any!  what was going on more
ambient i might be well that is what i like it
seems deeply to me palpable no less no loss
or just my assumptions a wide list itself lists
as glissandos with no end in sight take on what
you want and change it and if there is betterness
then better nicely invasive unmoored and alive



For Simone De Haan.

a horizon of percussionists treading water
to much rain about over the last month
the conductor is in a blue kayak eating a cake
the audience are in waders it is like
thunder from the horizon persuasive drumming
our best trombonist has stayed in sunny
West Australia taking photos by the sea
this rhythm would be perfect for him
but his photos are solos as it is

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

 
 

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