Monday, October 1, 2007

Cath Vidler

Eleven Lines From Nowhere

The void was a unit of darkness, our bodies an instant, a clap,.

By and by the water shook, no, trembled, on the verge of tears.

The leaves had no destination.

My face doesn't tell the time, but everything was cornered, like a lawn.

To the left, a deliberate flaw, to the right, a bent flower,

I've found what I was looking for.

Tree-diagrams helped explain the forest:

Her eyes, longing over the couch,

And her hands, Their beautiful dexterity didn't tell the time.

She left trailing the scent of mimosa, mimos. . .

Summer's salt-laden mist was turning to tears as we spoke.

*previously published in Turbine '06

Five senses of the moon

a sensation of brightness, that made seeing

stony silence.

moonflowers, feasting on pallid light.

the swelling increased, with tenderness.

inhalations of imperceptible quality.

*perviously published in Alba - Issue 12/Dec. '05

Translating the cactus

Rain in September.
Checking if the cactus became wet. Checking still.

Rain in September.
Examination, whether the Kaktus kept wet. Again inspects.

Rain during September.
Controlling is the cactus it obtained bathed. Control still.

Rain in September.
Control is ka'ktos it took humid. Check again.

Rain in September.
Verifying if the cactus obtained dunked. Verification again.

Rain in September.
Verifying if the cacti to start wet. To verify another time.

September rain.
You verify whether you obtained the inspection where the cactus
wet for the second time.

Inside September rain.
The catus got and the milk it inspected. Again the prosecuting

Rain in September.
Checking if the cactus got wet. Checking again.

Five poems I didn't write

1. This is the poem I didn't write about a group of nuns waiting for
fish and chips. Coalescing, drifting apart, coalescing again. Petals
of a sea-anemone. The shop was an aqaurium of heat.

2. This is the poem I didn't write about childbirth. 1. Broken waters.
2. Howling tree. 3. Keillands forceps (the wandering method).

3. This is the poem I didn't write about fifteen non-grammatical uses
of the word "if".

4. This is the poem I didn't write about a corporate gift basket: Golf
balls. Mixed nuts, My best friend bursting out of a mini.

5. This is the poem I didn't write about photo booths. A series of
likenesses is located beside the phones. Will only say "photo". Your
complete privacy is cut short by the curtains.

12 New Zealand Snapshots

1. A spent river makes minor calculations: curve, distance.
2. Cows eat fast air from the edge of a revine.
3. Bamboozled tussocks hold their blades erect.
4. Cabbage trees dream of the dinosaurs.
5. The sky is scuffed with cloud.
6. The cloud is scuffed with light.
7. White Rock, a man from outer space.
8. Leaves whipped into seizures of rumor.
9. The land, a swept jigsaw of horizontals, verticles.
10. Roots clamp onto the dirt like frightened spiders.
11. A milky sea, flavored with sky.
12. Emerging birds, stitches in the clouds.

*3 poems previously published in Nthposition - Oct. '06

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