Three poems by Rupert M Loydell

I am not a silent poet


We are a biological computer
drawing lines, connecting dots,
processing glyphs and contours.
Big photos on the wall make us feel
like we are going to the moon.

Anybody can make a narrative,
everybody does. We grid the page,
restrain the words, and everything
falls into place once mapped.
It’s like a battlefield, you have to

think your own way through. I want
a definitive world view; perception
has changed because of technology
but is always open to recall. We occupy
a different space in another room.



When I came to write this, I had lost the first sheet of paper written in the night as the poem nudged at me, escaping from the book I’d finally managed to read after three attempts.

The story is told to the narrator by his friend (‘I remember he said that she said’), slowly recounted by…

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