2. Inadmissible evidence, The Harlots' Call, Wounded, To Edward Thomas: poems by Roy Carnon

Poem: "Inadmissible evidence" by Roy Carnon

Obtuse angles privately encountered
in the spillage of dreams
or opaque in creased deformity --
it is for this that the flagging sun
husbands these flaccid grounds
rotten under flame of grass,
or the initiated, exposing the old imposition
grave their brand on the crust of sweat?

In the end
this indecision betrays malignancy
an affliction in the belly of birth
and unacceptable.


Poem: "The Harlots' Call" by Roy Carnon

the honour of your service
By what right do you father your concern --
this child of pain is mine!

You withdraw from the orgasm
of creative paint
to your sub-committee,
the uncommitted ejaculation
standing like a question
seeking favour of the family name.

What do you know of birth, of agony
conceived in sharp turpentine joy?
I never haggle the uncouth bargain
or scrawl my crude gestures
on the establishment wall --
I parade my trade and price my harlot fee
above your pity'd dole
disbursed by the polite academy.

You've turned full circle
of your timid shirts
immaculate over dirty undepants.


Poem: "Wounded" by Roy Carnon

Enter delirium --
call her name
in my boy's throat
a make-shift of knives
As the doctor washes -- bite!
Bite in cloudy glass
crunch illiterate moans
to threshing shapes.
Talk --
words will salute the hurt of glory
into and beyond the heart.


Poem: "To Edward Thomas" by Roy Carnon

Across the garden
In the wind
Sea-swelling evenly
The lonely tree.
You had seen it
Sixty years before,
Pine of your solitude.

Crè no longer --
But a tree,
Branches adequately spread
To hang my wretched thoughts --
The dove you cradled there for me
Like you
Has moved away.


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