Poetry Corner
town of poets
PETE DONOHUE
in the cobwebbed glow of our basement kitchen
where moths and wasps have given up the ghost
i perch on the edge of the autumn ercol
sunny studio couch and welcoming daybed
playing with my punnet of breakfast blueberries
celebrating quietly as each one is swallowed
down to a single bloom-dusty layer
& my breathing is almost completely at ease
i am reading poetry consideringly slowly
savouring the sweetest essential juices
line after line & verse after verses
emotions & images slip from the pages
at my swollen feet californian zinfandel
a bottle of old vine convenient screwtop
the effort to move & discover a wineglass
seems pointless & saves on the washing up
my fragile nerves are now shot to fragments
following a week of mystery bleeds & bloods
an ecg & a doppler flow test
& yesterday’s harrowing cruel ct scan
caught in the trauma of carrying a canula
fraught on a bed in its glidings & jerkings
frantic spins through the donut of life
breathe in hold your breath & then breathe again
when the radiologist had perfunctorily checked
those revealing images of my sliced-up self
the canula was free to flee from my vein
leaving me gasping in this cubicle world
were i not needle phobic to such extremes
i could’ve been one of my dead junkie friends
ironically those jiggling anxiety feet
probably helped with my pooling blood
this book i am reading is called poet town
the poetry of hastings & thereabouts
my hardback contributor’s copy feels warm
as i cradle the cover & stroke each page
many mates & acquaintances grace these leaves
also berries of strangers & fruits of the dead
we all come to rest in creative commune
sharing our stories our inspiration.
We hope you have enjoyed reading this article. The future of our volunteer led, non-profit publication would be far more secure with the aid of a small donation. You can also support local journalism by becoming a friend of HIP. It only takes a minute and we would be very grateful.
Leave a Reply