Picaroon Poetry - Issue #10 - September 2017
We have a strange and wonderful line up for Issue #10 - including (but not limited to) smugglers, dinners, literary icons, an octopus, a tapir, pop stars, and the passage of time. Featuring poetry by Stephen Daniels, Stella Bahin, John Grey, Claire Lloyd, Lorraine Carey, Kathleen Latham, Natalie Crick, Leda Muscatello, Billy Malanga, Sarah Shirley, Pat Edwards, Monique Byro, James Croal Jackson, D. Dallas, Neil Fulwood, Howie Good, Michele Stepto, Tristan Moss, Joe Cottonwood, S.E. Acton, Brett Evans, Samuel Kendall, Philip Flynn, Belinda Rimmer, J.A. Sutherland, Kathleen Strafford, Catriona Yule, Patricia Walsh, Nick Romeo, J.P. Bohannon, and Hannah Stone. Enjoy!
We have a strange and wonderful line up for Issue #10 - including (but not limited to) smugglers, dinners, literary icons, an octopus, a tapir, pop stars, and the passage of time.
Featuring poetry by Stephen Daniels, Stella Bahin, John Grey, Claire Lloyd, Lorraine Carey, Kathleen Latham, Natalie Crick, Leda Muscatello, Billy Malanga, Sarah Shirley, Pat Edwards, Monique Byro, James Croal Jackson, D. Dallas, Neil Fulwood, Howie Good, Michele Stepto, Tristan Moss, Joe Cottonwood, S.E. Acton, Brett Evans, Samuel Kendall, Philip Flynn, Belinda Rimmer, J.A. Sutherland, Kathleen Strafford, Catriona Yule, Patricia Walsh, Nick Romeo, J.P. Bohannon, and Hannah Stone.
Enjoy!
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Claire Lloyd<br />
The Return<br />
The sky looms above<br />
Thick, grey, like sour milk ready to choke me.<br />
My mother’s nourishment has become poison;<br />
There is no more ambrosia for the children of the gods.<br />
All is blocks and gold and reason;<br />
There is no bleeding heart for this wild beast.<br />
And so I graze,<br />
Slim pickings for the fruits of my labour.<br />
And the gilded cages are still prisons, gold chains still fetters<br />
And how curious they do not notice<br />
The series of small implosions<br />
Their spirit folds and recoils beneath their sterile skin.<br />
But I, I long only for the black nights and the stick man shadows<br />
In the forest beneath the wild moon<br />
Leave me naked, ugly, primal, and wanton<br />
Shedding my skin, all that I was is an empty membrane.<br />
My blood, my bones, embrace the soil;<br />
I am no butterfly expiring on fragile wings<br />
I am the Kali-Ma to their mother Teresa.
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