ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP
In Bed.
The homestead El Caserio i Bizkerre lodged upon the wall
Has a large gable’s end symmetry, slightly
skew whifff in the canvass that encompasses it. I wonder if
she’s painted herself from within to without
Where she stands now, a cut out dark silhouette, on a patch
before the facade of splotches, daubs of windows
doors, heraldry shields, terraces, hatches. Two doors, right side
sharp, left a blur but can i enter, what will i see
She knows she’s concealed from me?
what will i find, dusty jars, a winding stairway, creaking
floorboards, a chest of drawers, which will i open
to secret treasures, but no, i am without with her dark silhouette.
What is the luminous blob suspended above
her head by almosr invisible silvery strands of arms embedding it?
All in the foreground, the sharp, the blur, paths
to each door, blotches of rockery, smudged plants, dollops
Of green lawn. Overhead, a red angle roof, in the sharp, crows
swarm in a blue sky, where it blurs, branches
stretch to entangle, notch the gable corner in weird distortion.
Beside this painting is another, a naked Madonna
A faceless oval she kneels, arms clasped behind her sleek black
parted hair, her armpits bared to reveal the taut
of her breasts, her curves in orange &gold dust.
Is it she who waits behind these doors?
When night falls the sea is a distant death
is The Bed that is a Tree hewn from the stump
of an olive tree, drilled as a bed
post, as a mould for the rest, around which the chamber
Was built, waiting for us to enter?
She is more beautiful than her painter &we know it
but perhaps if we enter together
the splashes of paint will be softer than our creaking bones
poetryrepairs #245 18.02:013
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP
Fatal Flaw
Oil and carnivore, a fart in the biosphere.
What is given, what is not given.
Sleek cats, nice dogs.
Doth machine maketh man?
Here in the lush, plush green, beyond our control
neo barbarian with feet of clay, veni vidi vici
life spins on its fragile thread, here in the lush, plush green
automata cellular, where our unconscious mind
gravitates in wear tear to invisibility, to vanishing
while the brain rambles uncontrollably on, indifferent
to its bearer, who must remain to all that has been taken
but for its moments of deception in the nonchalant grey traffic
where we belong, as we carve up our multitudes, after standing
in the queue of anonymous crowds, seeking visibility, seeking
real artefacts from the props that support the scene, collapse
the role that we play, beyond our control into the fatal flaw
poetryrepairs #245 18.02:013
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ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP Robin Ouzman Hislop, born UK, a reader in philosophy &religions, has traveled extensively
throughout his lifetime but now lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in
Spain &the UK.
Robin was editor of the 12 year running on-line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and
Times. In 2013 he joined with Dave Jackson as co-editor at Artvilla.com, where he presently
edits Poetry Life &Times, Artvilla.com, Motherbird.com.
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP has been previously published in a variety of international magazines, later publications
including Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian
University, N.Carolina), The Poetic Bond Volumes (thepoeticbond.com) and Phoenix Rising
from the Ashes (a recently published international Anthology of Sonnets). His last publication
is a volume of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk available at all main online
tributaries.
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