Skip to main content

NEW POEM BY TODD SWIFT

Want: 2; Have: 1

For James Brookes
 
Last year tossed many friends into bin bags...
for all their sins, they were better alive;

thrived in the sun, dirt annoys the skin,
erodes faith. I have never met a dead


believer. We love God most when living.
The dead know the bald mysteries.
You get rich with washboard abs
and blonde curls. 90% of porn


is police handcuffs and suffering
in falconry hoods; fellators paid
to appear illegal but just over the line.
You want to be oriental potentates

 
with power and slaves to kneel and adore
an engorged sense of self. You crave
being craved. Wish to be Gosling,
or whoever the next Gosling is, will be.


I have been accused of murdering
my love hearts, as if I doodled scum

across my forehead on Wednesdays;
no, I am innocent of all surplus crimes

except grandiosity. Pere of my own
ubiquity, grossly over-privileged;

in the blind and dumb mirror of the networks
where I am bound by gimpy Hephaestus,


who locks up our faces in smart wire
we cannot break out of, no matter how hard

we bleat books, sighing we want to be A-list.
My V-shaped torso rises from a swamp,


triggering salivation in the audience, who’d
crawl over muscles to mouth a tensile sword.
God’s silence is not absence, it is omission.
Purely, he punishes us by not intervening.


Jehovah could come like a solar flare, burst
all the power lines, wipe our screens away.

We could be cleansed as the solar wind is,
rising out of its own circles of eruption to stay.


copyright the author, Todd Swift, 2015
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE BEVERLY PRIZE SUPER SHORTLIST FINALISED!

Dr Bruce Meyer, a significant Canadian poet and writer, will be the final judge for this year's Beverly Prize For International Writing - the impressive super shortlist of 18 international poets and writers is announced below.
Any original unpublished manuscript, in English, by anyone living anywhere in the world, writing in any genre or on any topic, prose, non-fiction or poetry (even drama) is eligible, making it arguably the world's most eclectic "broad church" literary scouting prize. Last year's debut winner was Sohini Basak (her book is being launched in Bloomsbury July 5th, 2018).

The rules of the prize stipulate that any author chosen for the shortlist agrees to accept publication with Eyewear if judged to be the final winner; and may not be entered into other competitions at this final stage of adjudication.
Bruce Meyer is author of more than 60 books of poetry, short fiction, non-fiction, literary journalism, and portraiture. He was winner of the Gwendolyn…

Review of the new Simple Minds album - Walk Between Worlds

Taste is a matter of opinion - or so goes one opinion. Aesthetics, a branch of pistols at dawn, is unlikely to become unruffled and resolved any time soon, and meantime it is possible to argue, in this post-post-modern age, an age of voter rage, that political opinion trumps taste anyway. We like what we say is art. And what we say is art is what likes us.

Simple Minds - the Scottish band founded around 1977 with the pale faces and beautiful cheekbones, and perfect indie hair cuts - comes from a time before that - from a Glasgow of poverty and working-class socialism, and religiosity, in a pre-Internet time when the heights of modernity were signalled by Kraftwerk, large synthesisers, and dancing like Bowie at 3 am in a Berlin club.

To say that early Simple Minds was mannered is like accusing Joyce of being experimental. Doh. The band sought to merge the icy innovations of German music with British and American pioneers of glam and proto-punk, like Iggy Pop; their heroes were contrived,…

THE WINNER OF THE SIXTH FORTNIGHT PRIZE IS...



Wheeler Light for 'Life Jacket'.

The runner-up is: Daniel Duffy - 'President Returns To New York For Brief First Visit'

Wheeler Light currently lives in Boulder, Colorado.



Life Jacket

summer camp shirtsI couldn’t fit in then
are half my size nowI wanted to wear
smaller and smallerarticles of clothing
I shrunk to the sizethat disappeared

of an afterthoughtin a sinking ship body
too buoyant to sinktoo waterlogged for land
I becamea dot of sand