ditch,

the poetry that matters

Geoffrey Morrison

Geoffrey Morrison was born in White Rock, British Columbia. He took his undergraduate degree at Simon Fraser University, and will be studying for his MA in English at the University of Western Ontario.

 

Take it and Read 

 

galvanized before – the level pint and

You simulate      too far ashamed.

And people that you “see”

Are       icons, distant Byzantines,

The same unheimlich        evident

Precisely           couple drinks –

Though evident because no      there.

 

The reach         the green worm

In a black and silver autumn

Underground the minerals

Get          to something, I suspect

You        know this far better    I

 

If a sea is  undern      the things

We say, then           reach it

Our oceans

                        green and tropical, or grey

My ship     sturdy barque        call her

The “Mary Rose”     tempt fate      plagiarize

 

Textletter love has killed hundreds

an afternoon imagining

The            by typewriters, or pens

 

Not that I               you understand.

 

vibration    dies          a pseudoscience

 things like “chemistry”

But      other words do we have

The cybernetics lag         think.

 

I expansive I         Greek island ever

Walls white to   heat food      pungent

North envious of           breakfast

The tea

 

“Nobody had ever said that to me before”

The thingsforthefirsttime            expect

   Trumpets cameras

But    lack of them   

All of this a circumlocution

Truth                jolted

                                 sticks

 

in a purple landscape

flowers of modelling cement

We eat the smile tenderly

                  ;                           .

Careful           notful hands

We instigate a warm

normal things         I           have  any  way

 

Augustine   love with love

his mom

be abrupt,                 it was

Sigmund Freud,                    alright.

 

goldsilver flecked worm

 

 

 

Manuscript Cultures of the Western Isles

 

 this yellow jungle of the word

sky         not         burning lyrestring soul

a sky, the        we use              “sky”

 jungle “yellow”              I can't explain

slips             wish                 the poetry

f clarity were there.

 

woodwind section rips           in all

nineteen-eighty-one

into the gap

nothing,                   coined            a void,

                      springdreamed lands

              Condottieri territory

 

A body      its clothing      entombed

The             ections                  us  brief

this sounds blasphemous              know

         smarting word    “”     not “”

 

 away my papers, burn     books

           mad ruff    s one cares

        melancholy takes a common 

                    no quality of new

           courtiers can smile    and move

                            it must be sixteen-sixty-two

And              see we're done                 now

The worst                       not sadness in itself

But      that       despite            formula             was true.

 

    drinking proofs              we should

  sweat of worlds, but not the ones

we should we should be chessmen kings and queens

                We say the same things many times

 is pain            cause to doubt

 

rend  acts                 pass who would 

      this impasse makes images 

       Platonic forms  eat

bodies             richness 

 

if no fairie queenes

               textile-working weeds

         spiralled undergrowth  

And brittle  will            paint the land

            secrete triumphant juice

 

 

 

 

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                                                                                                              May 22, 2013