Daily Archives: November 6, 2016

Tessinparken By Monika Kostera

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

The thing about childhood places
is that they allow us

directly into their dreams.
We see how our own

are spun into and from
their fabric: the currents are clear,

and palpable, as storms and rivers.
The young woman with the bike has

a familiar stride, a swiftness
of the elbow I have seen before,

I am sure, thirteen
years ago, sitting

here, in this place, when it dawned
upon me that

the children who play here
would have

the same lining
of light in their dreams

as I do, that
they and I were connected

by the way laughter carries,
reflected off the warm cliffs

and the water surface.
People come and go, but the trees are here

always, the guardian co-dreamers.
Only they know our real names

and they wish us well. This park,
on a July evening,

is the only proof I have
of home.

(Amsterdam, 2016)

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I am a streetpoet by Monika Kostera

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

It was 1968 and the gods
descended from Mount Olympus
and walked among us. I was

barely five, following
the grownups around Paris.
The pavements were humming
and the old Halles

were still full of light and shades
trickling into rivulets and puddles, swift
to the touch. Without the strong

narrating voice, connected
by dream’s umbilical cord,
I listened with my body.

don’t remember Louvre and the grand boulevards
only the mayflies of dust
and the smell

of ripe fruits, like the inside
of churches. The face of the street smiling at me
from so close, like a good mother.

Yes, I know what was
underneath those flagstones. I am still
full of whispers,
like a dry, empty shell.

(Rethymno, 2016)

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crisis in the rue cliché by Mandy Macdonald

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

sometimes i think i’m beginning

to get it

but i guess i’ll get over it

just keep taking the tablets



tintinnabulation of bells bells bells all round

my mouth

a concept a day keeps the mind

ticking over

in half an hour


but i can’t pay that bill

call me back tomorrow or

in a year’s time or

in the year of our lord three thousand and one

‘tis all one ‘tis all one

what’s happened to time?

yesterday was mesozoic

the time flies were gigantic

and ravenous

but i just couldn’t

turn the clock forward

had to leap without looking

back to the future

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Dyselxic I am not by Barry Fentiman Hall

I am not a silent poet

Dyselxic I am not
But I paddle the same cnut
Through the same waters
As some of you
Some shit went down
When I popped out
I bounced ma said
I took a clout
Or something like that
Something to do
With my unformed head
She would always
Change the subject
So up I grow
I walked on tiptoe
As though that’s the way
That everybody goes
I was a playground sensation
I was copied by
All the other kids
If we’d had Facebook
It would o’ been the nation
Some kind of tribute
At least that’s what
I thought till
The first boot
Sought to fill
My skinny arse
Followed by the cry
“We’ve seen ya ballerina”
So much for being a
Pied piper of fashion
I was a rat
A brat
A spacca
An anagram
And a rum un
I could not stay within

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