Creative Writing | ELAN Frantoio

War Strategy

2011-07-18T09:28:46Z

A child with glasses sits in front of me
Her homework is a war strategy with
horse-men, musketeers, some enemies
and a pointed symbol for civilians.

She draws the symbols then fortifies
the codes with colour.

She's obviously a swat.
She loves pens and rulers, and
Cherry-flavoured rubbers.

She knows she's clever.
She knows she'll never be a child.

Sty

2011-07-18T09:26:18Z

I like forcing down my pen until
the page bleeds with
wrinkles, folds, signs
and unintelligible scratches
which mark the end of times

It's funny, not one kite
has entered my mind
My right eye itches as
I keep repeating to myself
'I've got five bags, I've got five bags,
I've got five bags...five bags

I press the Sprinter's button
to cross a shore
where shame is not allowed
I'll fly you there, my love
on my rough kite of fire

I'll fly you there, my love
where flying can't be higher

Still Wrong

2011-07-18T09:21:40Z

I look at things and I don't know where to start from.
Most of them are just displaced objects in space.
It would take only a tiny movement to re-place them,
put them back or find a place in this floating chaos.
Instead, I stare at them.
As if the power of my gaze could move them.
And there they are. Still out of place.
Still cluttered.
Still wrong.

Dublin Mix

2011-07-18T09:14:07Z

I loved the colour and
the smell of ink as grandma
whined forth the pipes of fortune
at the opera

I try to explain but lines
cross over and the light
runs faster, than you will

So Ben looks at me
blankly
then John
his eyes full of mirth and gratitude
I reach for a can and two
plums on the river Liffey

I'll soon see Apollo's hand
reaching out for my large suitcase.

By this time I'll have cooled
down.

After the Kites' Masquerade

2011-07-18T09:06:30Z

I suppose there is nothing left
in this plum-hot train
but to write my heart off.

My feet have swollen
and noises still
surround my flames.
'I walk alone
among the jasmine bowers'
says Cressida's heart
to Troilus's ear.
New faces mixed with
muesli fruit and hot cross buns
at Brysons' glossy tea jail

Round chocolate, legal
forms of darkness , neatly
arranged on Hell's Gironi
The eyes of a wrong suppliant
Can drown the school hall
With languid fluid
The Queeny tiffs
cough up my fear of reasoning through the night
the smell of gin and water
and a leather silence
Stacey pretends to go
and I surround myself
with petals' glee.

I'm silent but restless.
My head reads home
but nothing deep has
happened all week
Today the world goes by
without a drop of willingness
to stop the bullying sighs of war

I defeat windmills
and muddy waters
full of life-and-tears jargon
running down to Praha's Vault
I haven't spoken to
my friend a-while
his soft touch sends
my blood racing and colors my cheeks
His steadfast eyes
fix the gaze on future shores
and raises red lanterns
over planes of memory

I have seen a boy in silent blue
I knew nothing of his flights
and long, still watches
over streams of wounded lambs
round and round
a milk round that takes me
back to the land
I know.

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