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Best Famous Chris Mansell Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Chris Mansell poems. This is a select list of the best famous Chris Mansell poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Chris Mansell poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Chris Mansell poems.

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by Chris Mansell | |

Where edges are

 She is effulgent in the dark halls of town.
She is listening but they are hearing.
Her skin is blistering and sharp with sparks.
She is listening for the crick of grass underfoot.
They are hearing her heavy paces.
She is straining to feel the hum of the air.
They are hearing her voice wailing like a warrigal.
She is being quiet to count the breathing.
They are hearing the stertorous cracks of her fine pure voice.
She sings knife prising the clenched hills shrieked and sharp with danger.
They are being calm and combing their hair.
She is brittling the unseen strings connecting.
They are wishing softly in the afternoons.
She is testing with her naked feet where the oyster edges are.


by Chris Mansell | |

dust

 there are times 
when you should listen
to the world
  I think
like
 for instance
the time a meteorite came
through the roof and 
through the ceiling and
landed on my desk
  in the middle of 
the papers and things
undone
 to say it
smouldered would be
to become poetic
but it did
 smoulder
and I was sitting there
at the time
about to pick up my pen
then I was
covered in dust
fragments of roof
deaf with surprise
and there it was
not too big
not peculiar
except for it not being
where it should be
or perhaps exactly
where it should be
as I say
 a message


by Chris Mansell | |

the good soldier

 on someone else's place
it seems to him the land
slings distance way out
the dirt is dead and
the sky seems twisted
the beat of the stones is wrong
he doesn't know how to say it
there are no words no opportunity
and anyway
what would you say
that you're a stranger
and this doesn't say it at all

he walks with his weapon through the town
and from time to time he sees the luscious curl
of intimacy the uncommon common life
it's dressed differently he can't understand
the language rasping and gargling 
another time he'd be an interested tourist
now he's a hunter and the hunted

soon they say 
he'll be freed to retreat home
where the earth is vein deep
and when he puts his hand on the ground
he'll feel it beating but now
he can't remember home
though he knows the words well enough
back paddock Steve's paddock the yard
it's just words but now the imam calls
and winds a veil around his senses
and sometimes he thinks he'll never 
get back to where he belonged