Chris Mansell Poems

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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...Read more of this...

the beekeeper

 the population controller
slips into disguise
his charming suit
his veil of words
conceals his gaze
he has laid out the fields
and filled them with blossoms
and counted the money jars

in his SimCity slim city
androgyn sharp
bodies are worry perfect
slicked back souped up
cool as drones
the neutered ones
will dance for one another
in the pages of glib
they make their ideal
hexagonal cubicles
gleam with honey
they gel their wings
catch their reflections
in...Read more of this...

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...Read more of this...

The unquiet city

 we are succulents
our cool jade arms open
over clean tables our fine bone
china minds pull the strings
of our tongues together we plait
our thoughts with the television
back through the aerials and
transmission towers prodding
through the literal fog
the mechanics of which distance
does not startle us or the ears
pretend to hear the telephone
the page also wearies
us we have taken the meaning
out of things by...Read more of this...

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...Read more of this...