The Cleave Poetry Webzine [ISSN: 1758-9223]

Cleave of the Month February 2009 shortlist

In cleave of the month on March 1, 2009 at 12:19 am

As of this Cleave of the Month poets with 2 ‘wins’ in the preceding 6 months will be excluded from the shortlist.

Here is the shortlist for February – closing date 15 March 2009.

A trip to Great Yarmouth for lunch by Graham & Fleur Blick


Gentle, courageous victorious Horatio Brittania marks a Norfolk hero
renowned and adored by Burnham Thorpe Nor-folk exposed to the elements and flurrying snow
then cosseted warmth in Kings Head, Acle we scuttle inside
feasting on history and food at the tavern surrounded by ploughshares, creatures and pheasants
hospitality abounding and implements galore creative adornments both inside and out
we talk we eat

*

Gamelan Music by Dennis Kelly


—for Phuoc-Tan & Diana

“I write for myself—

and strangers”

—Gertrude Stein

*

i write for myself—and strangers

but mostly—for myself

i wouldn’t be writing—this way tho

if it weren’t—for strangers

especially a stranger—who said

there’s somebody—i want you to meet

so i write now—for two strangers

and myself—i write for her

even tho—we don’t talk anymore

i write for him—we talk a lot

without her—there wouldn’t be him

i write for him now—not her

funny how strangers—come & go

i write for myself—and them

*

Indecent Assault by Thane Zander

Murder

Broken marriages – surviving – a lifetime

present problems  – and marked – considering

those years wishing – praying – the abuse would stop

Rape

The dogs at the gate – penalise – passing ladies

retaliating –  the prophet buried – in places austere

barking new orders – in the Town Centre – find gravitational pull.

Armed Robbery

Vandals splattered – paint and pens – tagging new neighbourhoods

where virgins – fearing to tread – found new ground

passed into Heaven – their end placated – where light shone from below.

*

How can it be that the gas chamber door opens inwards? by Steve Parker

(to David Irving)

the occasion is Smoking Mirror, an exhibition–Flarf

to execrate the despicable English practice of riding to hound

–W.S. Burroughs

he’s asking in the wrong colour!

–Seance Recording (anon)

what it is to outselect the egregious shadow assemblage
of flickers the flickering voice half-memory a gestalt
of fireflies & rattle of redacted love of the Ramp
of that confluence of whispers gargled up in evoking
of the noisy spirit beyond the machinery of
blue saturates tested for at Birkenau Auschwitz
by weight of its own inertia so to assail a weakness
prying alone alone with the conviction with such fervour thereby mining
with the fixation of a boy digging out his first living spine
that such determination sapping away a bulwark artfully
might who might just bring the walls coming down with fumbling
with the flagship at the blowing thrice O thrice of the trebuchet
trumpet trumpet and canary glossolalia there look listen with jerks & squawks of
trumpet that thou art in thy posture & mild hooting hubris
thy resolve to be other but always in pursuit and hot sneer
of what is truly as the fall of clouds cry now in deadly blue
& otherwise spirited from your holes of deadness flushed
for the shoving your redcoat tripes in those faces of deluded boys


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