Fragments, A Week

(Note: the 1st line in Chapter 3 of this poem may make some uncomfortable)


Lip-tattooed cigarette
recall the feel of crushed velvet caressing a leg

sandy mosaic scales
tongues lap up sweet date tea

imagined lithographs
a Weimaraner noses its reflection in a shattered mirror

to the sounds of busy traffic
a Jackson Pollock painting up close


amputated branches
the butter knife sinks into soft margarine

smashed eggs
badly rouged mouth in the shape of an O

while pigeons nestle in nooks
bonfires spit and splutter

and someone stamps on paper cartons
her grandfather’s framed picture looks on, from above


Babies laughing in diaper commercials
the unzipping of a man’s fly

Purple Delilah rayon velour skirt, size 2
a woman screams as her severed hand flies from the machinery

A man holds a pole as he balances on a tightrope
Icarus plunges headfirst into the sea

As a couple tremble, fast asleep in grubby train seats
Jack: “If you jump, I’ll jump!”


ECG monitor line reduced to the horizontal
the fresh snow melts in her palms

A man flexes shining biceps on a Men’s Health cover
warning: fragile content inside

Book burnings in the Russian twilight
dawn breaks through the purple skies

as the boss barks at his subordinates
a giant teddy bear lies in the trash – abandoned, bereft


The golden bell chimes, resplendent, in the tower
Track 12

Steaming cups of tea
the odour of moth-eaten
books permeate the closet

and the grey, rainy morning
water trickles down whitewashed walls
dripping onto a solitary rose

What is your name
the sound that rain makes
as it falls in the Amazon forests


The afternoon nap
dancing motes in the
pale light of sunset

And the comfort in silence
colourful pinwheels stop
spinning in the air’s stagnancy

But why do you write like this
like how the seedling naturally inclines
its gay head towards the light

And where are we bound to
I was born in the midst
of the Great Kyoto earthquake

Pages 151-154

deep marks
that she made with a
pocket dagger into
the rubber tree,
drawing forth insidious
white sap

the arrow whistles past his ear,
striking the
bull’s eye
with terrifying accuracy

and Lust
yes I said yes I will Yes

Another poem that summarizes the consumed and the observed for my week, but accomplished in a question-and-answer format. I realize that I’m constantly propelled by some perverse intrigue as to how these lines, taken on their own, could be the start of a writing prompt. But when these lines were collated together in one large ‘random’ collage, the lines seem to tie together into a vaguely definable picture. Of what that may be is entirely up to you; the reader, to decide for yourself.

This is not the only ‘weekly journal’ poem that I’ve done – here’s another one, if any of you are interested.)

© Zelda Reville











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