All posts filed under: Metamorphoses

“Curlew” and other poems by Rosalin Blue

Lonesome Occupation Up – up and away in my little studio under the sky drawn back alone – to write That loneliness is the room for concentration bears the space for inspiration strikes the key of motivation to create origination with insane illumination and a wild determination, the poetic flow in motion — oh that cosmic emanation for the sake of word-elation Yet, it requires segregation and at times I miss emotion wishing for some conversation and a mutual revelation. So I leave my elevation seeking true communication and some closer stimulation —far beyond my meditation of obsessive rhyme-creation And when that space inside of emphatic animation and ecstatic evocation with the strange amalgamation of expansion and sensation, that poetic incantation that orgasmic culmination fills me up to saturation, then I get the urgent notion to fulfill my true vocation And again I draw back to my lonesome destination up – up and away in my little studio under the sky — to write   Under the Silvermoon And how often am I looking up with longing gaze …

“Needlepoint” and other poems by Erin Vance

Hiraeth In the turpentine afternoon I wanted to beat my wings— hollow so hollow. And in the rectal evening 
I wanted to be a hummingbird. A hum m ing bird. In the frost-swept night I wished you a Lamb. Soft like cotton balls and languid with musk. Turn me into a violent fresco,
 Lamb, and touch me like hot bricks in the wet dawn. I wanted to be a leaf lodged in amber. — — An insulin needle. And at the musk-soaked August’s end
 I wanted to be hollow t r a n s l u c e n t a hum mingbird with — — insulin — — needle— — legs lodged in amber. My hollow wings snap ping In your lamb’s mouth, turn me into a violet fresco, Lamb,
 touch me like hot bricks. Confession After Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, photographers of The Cottingley Fairies When Frances followed the little thing into the shallow beck I stayed back, watching her stockings sag in the water, flapping at her ankles like bloated second …

“Chattel” and other poems by Kushal Poddar

Panther Unbound My blind uncle asks if it is a fountain. “Ah, a fountain!” he says. “No, a dog licking!” I smile. We both know we fool around a lot. I turn the shower off and rub his back. My mother broke my air-gun against my spine when I failed to sum up success with the correlatives given. I walk with my eyes cast downwards unless your eyes are shut blind. I towel my uncle to sun. “Tell me a story” he says, and I retort, “So this one by Louis De Bernieres…” We both know I lie. I make this tale on my life as a panther unbound.   The Wise Rusts Meanwhile in Texas, a callidus gun takes us to a street led hoodwinked towards its end – bricks over bricks, more bricks opaque and thick. They report – five demised last night. One rebirths as a shepherd, one as a notorious skirt chaser, one a sheep, one a chef. One never returns. A gun buried, rusts its way back to the nidus, …

“English Breakfast Love Song” and other poems by Rhiannon Grant

English Breakfast Love Song   I am longing to pour out my soul to you in words which show my creativity and let off my head of steam but my soul is not so liquid it comes out in funny lumps uneven like old-fashioned sugar ready to make sure your tea is always too sweet and never sweet enough. Unengaged Concepts   Your thin God – onmithis, omnithat— is nothing beside the wildness of Goddess.   Love and suffering may have reasons but are not rational.   You say we can know about ‘chastity’ without living it.   Really?   Outside a seminar in a thick press of people could you look the right way maintain your dress just so be chaste in soul in ways you cannot describe?   You can use the word ‘God’ in a sentence.   So far, so good.   Do not presume to know what my God is like: how flowers dance for Her how Thou is there in silence how His sentences would make no sense to you. …

bind, a waking book by C. Murray

Originally posted on Poethead by Chris Murray:
They and I, O how far we have fallen! Just to burn here. ? You can now order bind via Turas Press bind cover photograph is © Christian Caller, original artwork Bound / Boundless © Salma Ahmad Caller bind (Turas Press, 2018) was launched in Dublin on October the 8th 2018. I include here, with thanks, some details from artist Salma Caller’s response to the text. This is a note of thanks and appreciation to those people who have supported the book from the outset. Liz McSkeane, at Turas Press has written an introduction here  She has taken me through the process beautifully, including a visit to the type-setter, discussions on the visual art aspect of the book, and at all times she has kept me up to speed with the process. Turas is a new press, I urge poets to explore the possibility of publishing there. Eavan Boland very kindly read the text and provided an endorsement for me, I am very grateful to her for responding to the…