Commentary & Two other new poems by Linda Stevenson

Commentary

Ignorance heaves into the morning
a breakwater where once placid waves
pile up
frothing with palaver and corrupted fish

I’ve been wondering how to rip free

reaching conclusions at the bottom of the wash
letting them go
to float
having plumbed their shallows.

Bequest

I asked for crimson, and loud,
indiscreet,
and burning internal

as if I would devour
all their holy books,
rule books, and boxes
of lighters, sulphur.

My hands are still held out,
perennial enquiry, neglect.

Shall I pass on to you
this last fluttering,
supreme unction,
the very prayer mat
I crouch down against.

Read My Lips

It seems to me as if I might,
foraging under thin ice,
grasp an unknown hand.
But read my lips about this…
I have no idea about its digits
or it could be a paw,
talon, or three-fingered, or
flipper. Wet or dry, stretched out
or curled. Seeking, or found.
Touch my skin, tell me of Emerson
‘s grand lesson, edges no bounds,
he says there are none,
and Tesla,
and blind currents.

Linda Stevenson is a poet/painter living in Melbourne Australia. Linda considers her poetry as part of her life; it has been a life-long habit, from childhood through to adolescence, adulthood and now into mature older age. In recent years her poems have been published in literature magazines in Australia, UK, USA and Canada. A chapbook “The Tipping Point” was also published in 2015.

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