"conjurings" poems
sunsets ripple across southern skies
like skipping stones across a pond.
i'm thinking about how we all die.
what will nothing feel like?
what did it feel like before?
i catch myself guessing -
the void and cold conjurings of a
scared temporary consciousness.
loneliness beckons and repulses me
in equal measures, existential inquiries
painting me into nihilistic corners.
is this just some brief gift?
i hem and haw and waste the light,
i become the universe i fear,
endlessly eating my thoughts,
embodying entropy as i gasp for air.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 6:17 PM UTC
I'm afraid of what
My dreams may bring
So I stay awake just
A bit longer.
I await the inevitable
Restlessness after my
Subconscious conjurings.
In the morning, remembering
Everything I felt,
Everything I did,
I have to choose whether to
Be dragged down
Or lifted up.
Why am I never lifted up...
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Selection Criteria
We seek a person showing an authentic engagement with the culture of language. The applicant needs a broad appreciation of linguistic form and an inclusive approach.
Essential:
• Two good honours degrees from a top performing university - Or relevant experience as an autodidact or dilitante.
• A willingness to appreciate and engage in other people's expression of poetic form.
• Openness to the ways in which language is multimodal and able to blur the distinction between word, voice, sound, body and image, whilst being able to draw upon the conventions of each mode.
Desirable:
• Colourful life-history, and a keen eye/ear for human and natural dynamics, and the capacity to dissolve the distinction.
Please submit sample below:
There was a tree. Indeed, there was a tree... that night we played with Gertrude or some girl or boy or some other echo or other.
Had she not mentioned the issue with the fragmentary interjections by candidates? The capacity of evocation is lost with this fashion for modernism [Golden light of blue buzzard and some such and wot not before azure cream in winter time and crystalline glaze] and its reflexive interruptions. Perhaps she should start again. [Does it even need to be a word? And what is this anyway?]. Re: Start again - good lord we are forced to read some nonsense [in the steam rows and the bath cabin], often with a similar flow. What about the art of pleasing our palate? We bump our heads against the brackets, elliptical conjurings and compound punctuation: -
Oh! ... Out of time? Battery low? Well, this will have to be the submission then. Good luck.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 7:02 PM UTC