brickstack blockstack

all night clouds shaking with anger in the morning three little poems from the east rain down

I am an open throat with the night sliding down beating at shadows yowling in red fields, spinning wave filaments into beats of self-betraya...

Call me the prophet I break through the wall of my house at midnight and leave hastily jangling like a thief. I have come North heavy with p...

I'm gradually accumulating links to sites etc accepting poetry submissions, as well as other resources and information. These are among ...

Everyone gets a chance to jump. It comes and it's gone, a crossroads, a way out, a way in, a closing door in the wind. When the moment c...

That's not an elephant in the room. Whichever way you look at it that's a burning man, and he seems calm about it all, chewing a san...

my other site is here: http://steveparker.wordpress.com/

what can I tell you about this? it's like windows breaking in like a hand got your foot and dragging you back like a dream like you can...

'Perhaps it's me...but in all honesty, I could not penetrate that tangle of syntax, invented words, and structure, and derive any ki...

this no damn chinaman got me no hepkat whore pours yellow ozone back up my veinhome, this a German-French sailor gripes my throat-gag we kno...

A market in Mesopotamia a bad boy favoured today by Allah drives a camel with a stick that he inserts in a wound created for the purpose win...

(This is a riff on the theme for the purpose of gestation - it's not a piece of writing yet) this corpse-faced Capa Coha buddha with the...

...is a long corridor stretching shadows to snapping just a tendril shimmer with dewdrops ...

He shows them magic sparks cascade around his head his fingers, tendrils that channel starlight, he tells stories and poems, his c...

The kind of poetry (and writing generally) that currently most interests me is the attempt to speak from areas other than the intellect. Not...

Turing is a candidate for the 'father of the computer' title. He was a prime mover in the decryption of the German 'Enigma'...

Dead to the fairies Smoking Mirror, what is that whisper, what is that shadow that walks at noon, the silence that grows like ancient trees ...

I'm giving names to the part of me that needs to speak. I'm calling it Sensorium , and I'm calling it Monster . Sensorium, becau...

Some words it is necessary to sacrifice at the outset. Some words have every intention of subverting the entire deal, and can not be safely ...

night don't stop - black stars burn forever at my door

The man rakes through knapped flakes of flint, like leaves or blades, slices of a body. He pictures unknown molluscs boring into chalk, brea...

The following poems are more or less traditional haiku inspired by reading Matsuo Basho. I tried to use some of the common nature images fam...

winter snows in late autumn - two-faced year

8 haiku a jumping frog breaks the pond mirror - a spring day shivers summer rose petals cover the pond - pink carpet roof autumn moon ecli...

This is intended as a poem about the US and Europe, not about Ahmadinejad or Iran. It just struck me that there was something deeply racist ...

...some dynamic of wind that blows through when you look down some mathematical thrust of stark distance galvanising musculature without att...

Does George Bush see Ahmadinejad like this... or like this... or like this? I sometimes see him like this... and sometimes like this.

I wrote this as an attempt at a ghazal, as it's a pretty ancient Persian poetry form to do with longing, but also to do with fire and ri...

it goes on the chatter the end of the world crackle of failing stars of radio on hillsides forest, wounded brothers like you didn't know...

tiny hands clutch at the sky - a child chasing birds

fog in white fields - cold crow on a wire hears me stamping

a backlit screen - ghostly hands paint words on my window

busy screen at night - hands making shapes across oceans

This is just a short improvisation, but I'll probably write it up into a longer poem about Bierce, who is something of a surreal literar...

He puts his head in the jar they seal it remove the air then they let in the smoke and blood mixed with ash and the intentional hatred of se...

midday sun - beetles make sand rivers down white banks

I dried out I was bone and gravel desiccated cartilage teeth joints that did not fit the wind blew through me whistled through my mandibles ...

The Egyptian goddess Nuit represents the night sky. The myth involves the stars, and especially the sun , being taken into her mouth every ...

...no stops downwind of dawn a soul-shiver through the fields blows the platforms into overcoat starlight dust of forgotten days, .............

This is just a context pic for the following poem. It's a carved foliate mask representing the Green Man or the God of the Waxing Year, ...

A yellow light through mist amongst the trees: below the frosted branches, freezing snow, a flame is fanned by winter's quick'ning b...

This form was invented by Dante Alighieri, probably for the Divine Comedy. It uses a chain rhyme of a/b/a b/c/b c/d/c etc; and, in English, ...

don't let them fool you the sun is no flaming ball of gas it is, as any eye can tell, a hole in the sky through which can be glimpsed th...

It was all dangerous it settled over the river like smoke and I had to look there were bells ringing and I lay there looking up looking out ...

Soon the orange shoulders of Cock Hill and Stairs Lane will sleep under snow and grouse will huddle in ditches below the wind farm. The chil...

The lime powder whips up out of the bag in a cloud and sticks to his eyes he falls back into the rotating drum of the mixer and the flanges ...

This was Deb's take on the 'crows' haiku. I thought I'd put them together: wave upon wave crows spiral black stars

wave upon wave crows falling like black stars.

I had this meet, see, with Sam Beckett's ghost, I was trying very hard to survive, to make something work, trying to be well. The river ...

the chair, the skeleton I'll be here when the dawn blows nails through the heads of the pumpkins I'll be here when the radio rain tu...

This thing on a long iron stalk appeared from the surface of a reservoir in West Yorkshire during a recent drought. The water was around six...

This was washed up on a beach exposed by the drought. It was some matted, compacted pile of reeds and vegetation, but it had me thinking of ...

sluice outflow

(A panel saw with a wooden handle, the old type that you might even resharpen. A tenon saw with a brass back, a crosscut saw and a rip saw -...

There's a goose outside at the edge of the field honking, squawking every year a goose doing that goose thing that sway, jerk, dance by ...

You have seen my secret place, my foundation of ash where I coil. Now there will be no silence between us though our mouths may remain seale...

We found this copper funnel in a hole in the ground near the reservoir. We suspected fairies were afoot, and we played with it for a while,...

leaping at clouds as though excitement could wake skies one dead by morning a confused mother crying over wet fields

The shoulder of Boulsworth Hill thrust against the cloud like a half awake lover, and the dawn's sweep down to wet Wycoller where the br...

The message is paraffin and ash, iron filings and spent oil. The message is a room in the afternoon with no light with the curtains half-dra...

This is dark crimson dyed with berries and the blood of stags filthy with age and stinking of Christmas drumming red spirals across the snow...

the night outside battering at the roof I picture it as a thing with a mouth thrashing an angry animal licking at the tiles I see it with in...

wall-eyed philosophe seeks love . (she laughs at both ........................... their stories comes in time to feel ................ ...