42 REVIEWS OF MY CHILDHOOD
from a roman (sic) literary review
Suckling on her womanliness to pick some interesting lines,
these poems seem over-pruned.
The combination of physical beauty that links shaking bottoms
and Christianity disappears in verbal pictures,
glimpses between images and the laughter of the Cornish Riviera.
This sixth collection concerns the nude in poetry.
The author starts by the ocean as though arguing with the tide.
playing from between mischievous cobble stones.
I cannot trap the womb.
The author is in love with what the wind takes out of Scotland.
Thumbnail sketch parodies of this hysteric journey across my memories,
perhaps its silent way will reach far into their home again.
You only get glimpses between doorways —
it is perhaps a smooth surface,
a day for little guinea-pigs
even if you can display a good thick pile carpet,
feel the children's often half-hearted intentions,
deal with indecent exposure.
An entertaining short novel
but too many letters from scenes of running home
to the laughter of hills.
They are all our children consumed by double pneumonia.
His final poem deals with mundane-seeming events,
archetypes of Doctor Who and poetic paraphrases of hills.
Such sentiments all help to gain friends in Birmingham,
shared experiences of quitting the slimming programme.
The cat sulks by the fireside;
perhaps the cheery flame dispels the moonlight.
© Gerald England
Composed: Gee Cross, 4th April 1996
1997 International Poetry Supplement (USA)
2005 Outlaw (UK)
Flowers at Fleetwood
2 months ago