
Two new poems from Duncan Jones
Ex Forces
Wipe that face all you like
Some other dew halos it
Wordlets glint and slide and go
Sweat in sheets reeks darkening
Everyone else but
Mould on the styrene ceiling flowers
(of old)
Pats at the boy’s chest feeling
For fissures, strides
On, front eyed, unanywhere
Lift till the marker snaps again again
Breakfast
There’s a glare
on the table
from the beast Sun
that makes you
difficult to see
Blue flowers do wither
on the stem
to lightlessness
Your hand is small
I won’t stay
to hold it.
Don’t say
what you were going to say
this morning says
Duncan has lived and worked in Birmingham for over forty years. He does things with words and pictures.
about Duncan Jones »»
FREE TICKETS for OUTSIDELEFT's QUIET NIGHT OUT
featuring RM FRANCIS, KERRY HADLEY-PRYCE, JAY LEWIS, WAYNE DEAN-RICHARDS and WOODENHAND»»
Outsideleft exists on a precarious no budget budget. We are interested in hearing from deep and deeper pocket types willing to underwrite our cultural vulture activity. We're not so interested in plastering your product all over our stories, but something more subtle and dignified for all parties concerned. Contact us and let's talk. [HELP OUTSIDELEFT]
If Outsideleft had arms they would always be wide open and welcoming to new writers and new ideas. If you've got something to say, something a small dank corner of the world needs to know about, a poem to publish, a book review, a short story, if you love music or the arts or anything else, write something about it and send it along. Of course we don't have anything as conformist as a budget here. But we'd love to see what you can do. Write for Outsideleft, do. [SUBMISSIONS FORM HERE]