ONE HAND CLAPPING
Feel in colour. The destruction of voice
Is mild green – terminable.
Easy on the eyes: paint ask or lilac
As if they could not see.
Tri-colour the body from the headÕs pivot
To the realm of the drum-rollÕs sad soul
And tread by the throats of flowers.
The scents of morning. The airÕs
Dominion. Feel. Feel in colour! Where
The black hatband
Has nowhere to rest . . . and the white glove
THE DEVINE FEM
IÕve played down my stock of years
And kept the improvisation
I designed the first heresiarch.
Mother to stone, feathering atmospheres,
My children hung as pendants,
The genetics of all.
I merged the statutes, glowingly.
The Muse had something to do with it.
The torch-swallower. The giantess
Of ÔOÕ and the gale that followed.
The tongue? It wonÕt cease there.
ÔDeath arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it,
like a suit with no-one in it . . .'
Forget me. Place me upon
Your unwanted list.
Tell your friends,
Tell your family,
This stranger was
No more than fiction.
Forget me. My words set
Your head aching,
Of too much ruin,
Fit only for the breaking.
Go now! Speak with authority
On how to escape
And bury them deep.
Laugh again – even
If the laughterÕs shallow.
Your spirit . . . it
Will be cold. Put on
A warm front.
This is what you wanted? Your ghost
Has slipped within
ThereÕs just an odd chord
Occasionally. Ignore It!
Forget me. Forget yourself . . .
Go on creaking. The new
Moon is ablaze.
The night lawn
Inside the room
The lamp is raining.
© Stefanie Bennett
Stefanie Bennett has published over a dozen books of poetry, a novel
& a libretto – worked with [No Nukes] Arts Action For Peace, & Equality
for LGBTI. Of mixed ancestry (Italian/Irish/Paugussett-Shawnee) she
was born in Queensland, Australia.