Iain Britton, "That Otherness" & "Black Rose"

Iain Britton

 

That Otherness

is criticized.   

Why do it?

            Why go there?

What right have I to loll about

                        in some soporifically-enhanced

                                    fairyland

                                                up to my neck

in lapping water

                                                which doesn’t exist

                                               

but which bubbles warmly.

                        You stare       and a maker of fake images

                        unveils a figure          complete with similar characteristics.

            ***

That otherness       is stopped at the door.

                                               

Strangers of the field

                                    come knocking

voodoo harmonies.       They carry dolls

            their souls dyed in wood

their exclusive rights torn to shreds        where they stand.

You plot the dots

of newly-hatched clusters of weather bombs.

     Skies cut their wrists

         Phantoms splash in puddles.

Day becomes night        becomes day.

            ***

That otherness

creeps into my life

into bloodshot eyes

and the sea pours in windows

swamps the things we love

                                      

                                     we cherish      

then cleans us out.                 The sea

squats on its haunches

            and gushes on.

***

You get the idea.

You hang your shirts out       to dry

knowing tomorrow

a noble savage will wear your colours.

Black Rose

A theme pouts

and a talismanic pendulum

                  ticks      to and fro.

Lips

       smear walls.

A black rose        springs up

           centre         stage.

                    Floorboards       shift

and thorns      

                   flake aphrodisiacs.

            ***

On stage                                  

      she touches my arm

      speaks of doping herself up

      lays eggs in my skin

      curls up in the cup of my hand.

            ***

My role:          to collect

wings     abdomens     cocoons

maggots

            famous for their spirals

            their twists and turns

            sudden dead-ends.

They gulp at headlines.

***

A rare find        (darkened by dust)

she reveals a truth

a clutching of hand on heart      

a life form softened by sound.

_____

Iain Britton: Poetry published in NZ and overseas in many magazines on- and off-line / soft & hard back, e.g. Harvard Review, Agenda, Stand, Scythe Literary Magazine, Slope, The Tower Journal, BlazeVOX, Horizon Review.  Oystercatcher Press (UK) published his 3rd poetry collection in 2009.  Kilmog Press (NZ) will be publishing Iain’s next collection, November, 2010, http://www.iainbritton.co.nz/.

_____

RECONFIGURATIONS: A Journal for Poetics & Poetry / Literature & Culture, http://reconfigurations.blogspot.com/, ISSN: 1938-3592, Volume 4 (2010): Emergence