Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org

This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Marie Papier Three Poems
5

is an awkward number
It stands on its head
thighs up   legs horizontal
neck squashed

They should’ve left me out
and gone for a party
of four : father and girls
in their Oedipus age

A fifth wheel is handy
when you run over a nail
An uneven number is fine
in a bunch of flowers

you intend to give
your lover   But three girls
and a mistress
is bound to cause distress

I was left to
stand on my head
unable to breathe
my feet pedalling in the air  


Afternoon Feeding

Coyly – as guests
sit around – she loosens
her shirt’s two buttons
and the baby fastens on
to the exposed breast  
as needle to magnet.

The little hand opens its fist,  
pulls at his mother’s wisp of hair.

The clock ticks.
The windows darken.

Captivated, the guests have
fallen into silence

when the baby,
content,  lets go of
nipple and hair,
fast asleep in his
mother’s arms.

Blissful, she forgets
to button up.


Realm

The houses are the size
of coins   neat as cribs
ornate with gauze curtains
to keep you snug

The rolling fields
have no boundaries
the mountains gaze
at their own reflection
waters replicate the sky

It has the magnitude
of a cosmos   You are
its crowned monarch
until curiosity draws
the curtains back

Winter has sharpened
the outlines    A fine rim
hems the horizon
you venture outside

through the garden gate  
beyond the fields
ploughing your way
into the thicket   

when you set sight on
a panel ahead which reads
Uncharted Territory

This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org
Searching, please wait... animated waiting image