Archives for posts with tag: doors
This image, ‘Summer Vintage Woman,’ is courtesy of CherishedMemories.

This image, ‘Summer Vintage Woman,’ is courtesy of CherishedMemories.

A short poem from this time last year about trying to pick a lock with my hairpins the previous December.

T: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

Sunflower courtesy of the Old Design Shop. Illustration by Kate Greenaway on sheet music from c. 1881.

An old favourite revisited, because artists are allowed to have their obsessions. “Exalted thus, we left” is a reworking of a poem from 2011:

I love the Dorothea Tanning painting that spurred the original “Jacob’s Dream for crinolined girls”. When I’m in Tate Modern, I’ll usually try to pop into the Surrealism gallery to gaze at the image, my crinolined protagonists and the yellow angel wrestled down.

The first version of this verse is one of twenty selected poems in Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012.
My other books include In the Ocean: a year of poetry, which came out in last month, and Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys.

Find me on Twitter as @BeadedQuill and on Facebook.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Contributor: David Cane.

37 of us shuttled along as we sit or stand
with our regular doors.
They are the ones with which we enter
Thursday morning in Zone 1.
They are the ones where we could
change here for
Victoria Line.
Too late to exit for Morden via Bank.

Your regular doors
can be dangerous.
You could change after Euston.
Make the next start
a stop.

Follow BeadedQuill on Twitter (@BeadedQuill) and Facebook. Preview the poet’s latest book, “In the Ocean“.

The image used is in the public domain because its copyright has expired. This applies to Australia, the European Union and those countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 70 years. 

 

at the door
or retire through the window.
That will suffice.
Better yet, via my ears
make your retreat as swiftly
and in neat compactness
as a ready ball of orange wax
or next time I spit,
roll out over my tongue.
Or next when through my eyeball
I aim a withering look,
consider that the cue
for you to take your leave.

I’ve tried re-working this strange little poem. I wanted to develop the idea of exiting from physical space through architectural entities (doors, windows) and then exiting from internality through bodily orifices. Yes, yes, possibly all very Freudian; Lacanian too, if I had added a mirror in there. Perhaps the window can posit the ramble in a liminal, almost-Lacanian zone.

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys 
Shining in Brightness