... The burning tree quivers
surrounded now by night.
Talking to it I talk to you.
My misplaced pencil-sharpener,
How is it I’m to manage
The analogue without you!
Who beckoned you from
Your rightful place?
Was the act committed while
I was sleeping;
My head turned?
Did I simply
For too long?
Come back down... you don’t
Belong in the heavens.
Reshaping the stars
Is my judgement.
Forgive me. Forgive me.
Yet another one! The tongues click & off I go
demanding – this is no message – my
qualifications are shaky anyway...
The kind speckled bird has told me what depths
some will lean at. Whisperings. ‘Her trade’s
unisexual –& a would be blimp’ – & ‘don’t
you just know the poems flaunt a new left
set on self destruct?’
Well... that’s a bit much. As Dali
so pleasantly put it,
“instead of writing a history of art I am
writing the art of history.” Also, “If men go on dying,
blame Jules Verne – he was logical.” What I’m saying
is – I’ve no way of out-stating these things
& I’m not sure
if all of me wants to agree when I’m busily
being awed... YES, awed
by the sure flashes of colour – seemingly true – [dream
of a Cosmic Unity] that I’d like to surrender myself
& would be cream-bun pacifists to. In full Spirit
can I again mime [Ah! manifestation] & toss this ‘other one’
... how the Great Speckled Bird rests
in the breast of each name-creed; that if – indeed – there
must be symbols, then best adopt this near divine invention
you need care for only when Unity stands its trial & much
is made of the perishing geometry; the detention of dance,
song, & fiction’s loss... the lingering anti-matter
we inspire – a whitewashed shy-hook & the Senses – hung,
UKRAINE, HARD COPY DEPARTMENT
What must word-play
That doesn’t exist!
Revisit the flaw
Stefanie Bennett, ex-blues singer & musician, has published
several books of poetry & a novel & works with No Nukes, Arts
Action For Peace. Of mixed ancestry [Italian/Irish/Paugussett-
Shawnee] she was born in Queensland, Australia.