Owen Bullock
repechage
a dream is a blue estuary
with a long corridor
people come and go
hidden in mist
a ten year old’s ambition
erodes the forest where his old self wanders
moors, burras, the burren . . .
the glow of houses, streetlights
are more than clusters of gas
lines peer out
flickering, flashing
at the cow’s coffin-shaped head
two or three start walking that way
then they all follow
the gate-opener
lingers at the back
doing the dishes
fill spaces
the cold wall
hot water
rafts into the sink
the silent telephone
prone guitar
dust on its sides
archaic light switches
gauze cloth over the computer
a soft chair
bookcases stacked
stacked again
stereo box
sky light letting in
sky light
more water . . .
imagining electrical currents
through that off-switched charger
rubber gloves tweaked over
hands
sloosh slosh click ting
pour swish rinse
the rack filled
ambition
one hand on each shoulder
shawls with a cold neck
he’s a novice of love
transmitter of the unsaid
her incisive 3 a.m.
calls to him
he’s outflanked, unstuck
but his confession . . .
to risk censure
with an ounce of uncaring
over a precipice of declared needs
ailerons start working
despite warnings, bracketed predictions
how to speak further
to make the word rosemary
flavour hunger
he wants something of this life
just as she does
Owen Bullock has published a collection of poetry, sometimes the sky isn’t big enough (Steele Roberts, NZ, 2010); two books of haiku, wild camomile (Post Pressed, Australia, 2009) and breakfast with epiphanies (Oceanbooks, NZ, 2012), and the novella, A Cornish Story (Palores, UK, 2010). He is a former editor of Poetry NZ, and was one of the editors who produced Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Vol IV (Kei Books, USA, 2012). He recently moved across the Tasman to undertake a PhD in Semiotics and Poetry at the University of Canberra.
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repechage
a dream is a blue estuary
with a long corridor
people come and go
hidden in mist
a ten year old’s ambition
erodes the forest where his old self wanders
moors, burras, the burren . . .
the glow of houses, streetlights
are more than clusters of gas
lines peer out
flickering, flashing
at the cow’s coffin-shaped head
two or three start walking that way
then they all follow
the gate-opener
lingers at the back
doing the dishes
details“with a decent happiness” Robert Creeley
fill spaces
the cold wall
hot water
rafts into the sink
the silent telephone
prone guitar
dust on its sides
archaic light switches
gauze cloth over the computer
a soft chair
bookcases stacked
stacked again
stereo box
sky light letting in
sky light
more water . . .
imagining electrical currents
through that off-switched charger
rubber gloves tweaked over
hands
sloosh slosh click ting
pour swish rinse
the rack filled
ambition
an embrace“they shall have one” August Kleinzahler
“will you crawl in / & die with me” Eileen Myles
one hand on each shoulder
shawls with a cold neck
he’s a novice of love
transmitter of the unsaid
her incisive 3 a.m.
calls to him
he’s outflanked, unstuck
but his confession . . .
to risk censure
with an ounce of uncaring
over a precipice of declared needs
ailerons start working
despite warnings, bracketed predictions
how to speak further
to make the word rosemary
flavour hunger
he wants something of this life
just as she does
Owen Bullock has published a collection of poetry, sometimes the sky isn’t big enough (Steele Roberts, NZ, 2010); two books of haiku, wild camomile (Post Pressed, Australia, 2009) and breakfast with epiphanies (Oceanbooks, NZ, 2012), and the novella, A Cornish Story (Palores, UK, 2010). He is a former editor of Poetry NZ, and was one of the editors who produced Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Vol IV (Kei Books, USA, 2012). He recently moved across the Tasman to undertake a PhD in Semiotics and Poetry at the University of Canberra.
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