the poetry that matters

kerry rawlinson

kerry rawlinson emigrated to Canada from Zambia. She’s in recent editions of Prospective: A Journal of Speculation (poems and cover art); Unshod Quills; Kind of a Hurricane Press Sun and Sand Anthology; a winner in 2013 Ascent Aspirations Anthology Contest; Postcards, Poems and Prose Contest.





odd strangers

maintain that we have met somewhere before

know my face

                   (through Time’s revolving door?)


certain thoughts

get caught in the mind like cinnamon grains

between teeth

                   (déjà-vu or tailchase?)


thickened stinks

like incense and piss linger in the brain

on & on

                   (another life you breathe?)


can’t recall

hidden hints; trawl the dreamstate waking

from dead sleep

                   (night-vision true or gone?)



infants remorselessly murder, taking

their plunder

                   (born as the devil’s keep?)


answers creep

in circles, no obvious truths, questions

long deceased

                   (interred six feet under.)






It’s hot and cold

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied- Edna St. Vincent Millay



Time has a temperature

and a skin, a wrinkled thing


perhaps it is, and perhaps it is



it tocks


flashing fast in sunlight,



splashing in a glassy skin,

in an hourglass,

in red wine by firelight,


obsessive and quick as

the combustion of lust

in a kiss.


It ticks


congealed and suspended,

its chilled skin upended


in slick hospitals

with your husband inside;

it defines you by how


you lose things-

like him;

like your mind.



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                                                                                                                           October 18, 2013