BOB BRADSHAW : Prawn
CHEN FENG NG : A Speck of Dust
Anjana Basu : "Two Daughters"
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10:114
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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Prawn A Speck of Dust


BOB BRADSHAW 
Prawn
Piles of them sprawl along the tank's bottom. A few touch their fallen comrades, as if to encourage them to rise. A few drift slowly towards the glass like tufts of seagrass. They're like fallen orange blossoms held up by a wisp of wind. In the next tank two monsters, ling cod, gape at them. Rust-colored crabs lift the tines of their legs in the tank below them. Everyone, large or small, waits.
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10:114
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Prawn A Speck of Dust


CHEN FENG NG
A Speck of Dust
There's something in my eye I can't see clearly now someone's shaking me the world's jumping up and down I don't know what's going on see-saw margery-daw. Blink away that speck of dust no that doesn't work it's still in my eye obscuring my vision someone's talking pouring words into my ears. Rub my eye and now it's red and swollen but I still can't see I hear words but they make no sense because they dance into my ears and die. I cry the speck of dust slips out with my tear and streams down my cheek and falls to the ground and disappears and now finally I can see.
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10: 114
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

guidelines INDEX



Prawn A Speck of Dust


Anjana Basu
"Two Daughters"
Marina
Water daughter flows back again after so many years flows back over the grey rocks and the rejected relationships silver voiced, silver flowing rippling rocks, enchanter's rod, the sea flows to the land strange land, stranger still the bones that flow and grow to silver in stature like a flowing jewel rock rives, river lives to sea water born, reborn ice burns away the hatred salt splits cracked lips crusts white wounds heal, backs torn by whips heal washed in brine blood's a jewel the killers came white through the blue water but she lived blinded eyes that couldn't see the river flow the magic rod looked out to sea soft voice, water's voice white curling hair we wept brine, my daughter
Srimati Ann
Dear Ann called Srimati Dear Ann called Srimati Dead, dear Ann, called Srimati And buried too, sculpted deep in stone Ann Montcrieff-Jones, called Srimati Buried beside the steps Stone lips that never kissed Ann (called Srimati) But aimed at the sun and a rickshaw puller Ann, called Srimati in the stall of the prince A rickshaw puller wearing ragas And the steps were stone, Srimati Ann And the god water, down to the water All river long the prayer, the marigold marriage, The garland of hair, Srimati Ann, Streaked scarlet to a dream. In a rickshaw raga, Srimati Ann, Killed by a visa, all the sun long Montcrieff-Jones in the water Surya's rickshaw dead and dazzled Gone to ashes, she in stone Milk-mild flesh and lips That yearned to kiss sun and ragas Woven to silence Ann Montcrieff-Jones (No longer Srimati)
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10: 114
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BOB BRADSHAW : Prawn
CHEN FENG NG : A Speck of Dust
Anjana Basu : "Two Daughters"


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