FIVE POEMS BY TOM JENKS
Two
poems from Sublunar
(3)
Lancelot got lost amongst the brambles
Percival got lost amongst the brambles
gallant Sir Galahad got lost amongst the brambles
it is
time to sort the little stones
and
place the little stones in bottles.
Henry I got lost amongst the brambles
Henry II got lost amongst the brambles
Henry III got lost amongst the brambles
the tiny
birds of Gloucestershire
alight
once more in Toblerone
amongst
the brambles, the brambles
amongst
the brambles.
my liege, your divine, infallible shellfish
bewitch the barbers of the northern towns
and there in the field of the cloth of gold
they come to lay down their silver combs
amongst
the brambles, the brambles
amongst
the brambles
Pitt the Elder got lost amongst the brambles
Pitt the Younger got lost amongst the brambles
William of Orange got lost amongst the brambles
beware mad John with his sword of flame,
his sprites laying waste the celery
amongst
the brambles, the brambles
amongst
the brambles.
aromatic, there, amongst the brambles
and all the benighted hectares of rhubarb
(29)
the
rails, then the poppies, then the dandelions
calling the office by sousaphone
the birds disassemble, reconvene
within the watermill an aquarium
I’ve got these glasses with cones and rods
I’ve got this tunic with a silver lining
I put some oak leaves in an envelope
and hid then amongst the fun-size bananas
the
poppies, then the poppies, then the dandelions
the ripples on the canal a code
horses where it turns into night
and when they came to make them into zebras
they dropped the paint and sunk the well
the
dandelions, then the dandelions, then the dandelions
the
poppies and a haze of heather
when I am king I will get a warehouse
and fill it with the things you like
white
clouds; high white clouds
all the willowherb and saxifrage
and yellow cream from Lourdes or wherever
*
Three Poems from Spruce
balustrades and
coloured panels
a rift in time near
the anchovies
glowing after a
night of fun
rain and every drop
of silver
her long face and
interminable autumn
at the open day
with a skinny mocha
the chatter of apes
in a carpeted cellar
like a dog he
sickens without meat
pressed tongue and
then pastrami on a shovel
back at the ranch
for a peer review
a collection of
antique drinking straws
for his fealty a
tribute of almond milk
withdraw to the
north and a fortress of rain
a siege economy of
crispy pancakes
sausage casserole
and early dark
I cherish the
crumbs of my erstwhile mistress
her face in profile
at the salad bar
at the sneeze guard
where the ravens gather
there are golden
goblets in the privet
there are longships
on the boating lake
I filled a yogurt
pot with foaming rain
I lost the ring on
the upper deck
like a proud horse
through the baby change
pale shadow on the
oven housing
when it was written
it was written on vellum
on a menu in the
gated village
golden moon above
the contemplation zone
(Spruce was released by Blart Books, London, 2015)
*****
Tom
Jenks latest book is An Anatomy of
Melancholy, a Twitter re-write of a seventeenth century self-help book, out
soon on Sad Press. He has published
ten others, including Spruce, a
sequence of ninety nine-line poems (Blart
Books), The Tome of
Commencement, a spreadsheet translation of the Book of Genesis (Stranger Press),
On Liberty, Repressed, a minimalist
database treatment of Victorian political philosopher John Stuart Mill (Knives
Forks and Spoons) and Items,
a one-thousand fragment verbivocovisual sequence (if p then q).
He co-organises The
Other Room reading series and website in Manchester, UK, administers
the avant objects imprint zimZalla and is a Ph.D. student at Edge
Hill University.
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