lisa hannah

poetry and writing

Thirsty Season

In silver

when muddle berries shake with sugar

temptation

strews this fruit to the woods

rouge syrup curves arms for us

all fragrance

strawberries

bowl with wine

 

stain chilled

shot

shot

 

The Zoetrope

 

Ting Huan

fed you hot air

and made you a spectacle

high up

where paintings rotate,

beautiful translucent

 

And today, cylinder

they mount you on a spindle

like Sleeping Beauty

and finger you

from static to rapid,

arguing about your first name 

 

The Greeks opt for the wheel of life

zoe, and tropos,

but the others hurl, soul taker

and Daedalum

The Devil's Wheel,

forgetting that what matters most is magic.

 

The first whirl thrills the dancer

clumsy in the first Richter,

adagio until you gain speed;

fouette en tourant

fouette en tourant

fouette en tourant.

 

Equus is the same in the manege

ready diagonals,

awaiting the spin like a whip;

two inch thoroughbred

poised to walk, trot, gallop,

trot-gallop.

 

The others, await your interest:

Tomfoolery ball balancing

Professor Crumble's hat passing monkeys

pirouettes stored in an ornament

tickets for the Baboon Theatre

and the acrobat forever falling. 

 

 

Spring Circus


Branches gesticulate

to where the blue-tits hoopla

in a constant giggle of

spring leaves.


A thrive of bugs

have paid to watch the daring.


The midges halo nearby;

poised like a safety net.


Balance alone warrants a standing ovation.


Spring perfect,

the birds defy gravity

side on, sure footed, nimble,


while tulips adjust their ringside skirts,

aghast.


 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome

Recent Photos

Poems

Midnight Write: The Moth

 

Pills curtail the growth of the penis, testes;

allow the mammary glands to swell,

the Adam's apple to withdraw, the hips to protrude.

Erectile tissue loses sensitivity

as it flattens out but as

oestrogen floods the canal, we see

folds of the labia major.  Here.

Like two great wings.  This swelling is later tied

to give the appearance of a clitoral hood.

 

And next ? Angelica's gaze moved from the drawing to the rubber pipe.

 

Formaldehyde.

 

Time

For years she said she could feel things

moving in her ribcage after the birth.

Every night her legs pissed with terror.

There was something undelivered,

that the hospital left inside, alive

and writhing like a parasite

puppy with its eyes still closed,

snuffing for milk.

Her chest is soft as a palate,

where her ribs fan out,

where they fanned out in pregnancy,

like wings.

Partly see-through liquids

swell the mattress

leaving sores for the mortician.

Her skin creosotes like fencing

bubbling up sap,

protective

but the spine, blisters wet,

from both shoulders,

up

the

head,

to burst

occipital,

garrotting

the

neck.

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