All Poems
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Australia
© Alec Derwent Hope
A Nation of trees, drab green and desolate grey
In the field uniform of modern wars,
Darkens her hills, those endless, outstretched paws
Of Sphinx demolished or stone lion worn away.
Moth Collectors
© Chris Jones
When our moggy brings in moths, she squeaks
through the kitchen, tips between her teeth,and scoots upstairs to scuff under the bed.
If we find these blow-ins theyre usually deadthough a number dust the floor with tatty wings
or unfurl from sheets like pencil shavings,furry woodcuts, a lime-green surprise
The Emergency Drill
© Chris Jones
We sat in the belly of the aeroplane
and held out for sirens to swerve across the grass;
men with cutting gear and masks. No-one came.
On a back seat, Mr. Phillips bandied jokes to pass
Work
© Chris Jones
I caught rumours of some internal hearing
then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes,
hands scrunched up like a child's, rice paper skin.
That work mates complained was a big surprise
Name
© Chris Jones
His name has been ghosted over the fence,
leaving an alias, burn, prison clothes.
I'm half the man, he says, not my sentence,
waiting on time that other people chose.
The Ventriloquists
© Harold Pinter
I send my voice into your mouth
You return the complimentI am the Count of Cannizzaro
You are Her Royal Highness the Princess AugustaI am the thaumaturgic chain
You hold the opera glass and cardsYou become extemporaneous song
Restaurant
© Harold Pinter
No, you're wrong.Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly beParticularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurantEveryone is as beautiful
as they can possibly beAnd they are moved
Message
© Harold Pinter
Jill. Fred phoned. He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine,
Poem (Don't look...)
© Harold Pinter
Don't look.
The world's about to break.Don't look.
The world's about to chuck out all its light
and stuff us in the chokepit of its dark,
Wars & Rumors Of Wars
© Emanuel Xavier
Ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars;
see that ye not be troubles;
all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet
-Matthew 24:6
A Simple Poem
© Emanuel Xavier
With lips that will never touch mine
read your poems out loud
so that the words are left engraved
on the wall
make me feel your voice rush through me
like a breeze from Oyá
It Rained The Day They Buried Tito Puente
© Emanuel Xavier
The next morning
I heard the crow crowing, Oye Como Va
his song was the sunlight in my universe
& I could feel Titos smile
shining down on me
The Death Of Art
© Emanuel Xavier
Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.
-critic Harold Bloom, who first called slam poetry "the death of art.
Walking With Angels
© Emanuel Xavier
AIDS
knows the condom wrapped penetration
of strangers and lovers, deep inside
only a tear away from risk
For An Unknown Lady
© Dorothy Parker
Lady, if you'd slumber sound,
Keep your eyes upon the ground.
If you'd toss and turn at night,
Slip your glances left and right.
Spring Night in Lo-yang Hearing a Flute
© Li Po
In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
who could help but long for the gardens of home?
The Blossom
© William Shakespeare
ON a day--alack the day!--
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Dream Song 60: Afters eight years, be less dan eight percent
© John Berryman
Afters eight years, be less dan eight percent,
distinguish' friend, of coloured wif de whites
in de School, in de Souf.
âIs coloured gobs, is coloured officers,
Mr Bones. Dat's nuffin?âUncle Tom,
sweep shut yo mouf,
