Poem
Ter Borch would know him, this latter-day companion
of the cavalryman bowed on his mount,
shoulders and haunches sapped with exhaustion: and Sherman,
bright-eyed, red-handed, a hellion to order:
and the mailed believers of Krak.
The music stopped
This had been expected.
Paintings were stilled
And books lay mute.
... (read more)Torrid noon, I’m high in my mulberry harvest.
So, what is it with this tree? Lower branches, I click
quickly left or right – fingers safebreaker light
on the gorged capsules, and they detach,
drop, thuk and whole into my plastic bucket.
Yet from the tree-peak where the fattest fruit
clusters against the sun, O I must pinch
and wrest until the berries burst like bloodspray.
... (read more)Her hand in mine
she walks looking back
at all the bright colours –
that’s a funny man.
She says what she feels
and teaches me what I thought I used to know.
The warmth of her hand
the sense that she will never let go,
even though her body
is twisting back to examine
a piece of glass with writing on it.
... (read more)In ABR's seventh 'Poem of the Week' Stephen Edgar discusses and reads his poem 'Man on the Moon'.
... (read more)Fold out evenings, chairs in the street.
‘See Iridium?’ Making out the satellite pantheon:
efficient gods that do return our prayers
(small voices cast across our desert spaces)
like stars —
like Clint Eastwood
riding impassive
through our networks of desire.
... (read more)From here the Palisades are another country,
their brindled cliffs seamy with snow,
the Hudson in its Acheron vein between us,
a hawk patrolling its course.
... (read more)hi friend im a guy who loves
deeply and cops love pounding
and still a nice rootable future
looking for someone needs arise
in a few words a besides the
all ex i adore
and a telephone number
woe betide my joys and sorrows
ill reply to all letters signed 68kg
uncut cop the reply letters all
hi guy woe im pounding i
adore ex cops and my
future nice guy friend im
the reply number arise needs
joys still im hi friend and deeply
ill i love someone besides a few
rootable sorrows and looking for
words i adore my telephone numb
er the reply cops pounding
the letters uncut and
ex looking words
... (read more)Grennan takes another corded strand between his fingers,
moves it through a plane, then interlaces it to add dimension,
utility, beauty; then he takes a swig from his bottle,
... (read more)This six a.m. moment
in the cool-blue cool
of early morning
is not eternal.