When we’re together, I’m trailing in the surf,
my eyes picking away where the waves pull in
and out, following the hollows left by your feet -
always a minute or two behind, trying to find
something half-buried and dragged in to my toes,
a memory to wash off, pocket, and bring back home.
Perhaps I call, my voice fighting with the wind,
but you’re eager for the dunes, you’ve seen something
disappearing up ahead. Away you go, inland, inland.
In much the same way the sea can touch
both sides of the Pacific’s edge at once, whilst
coughing up great huffs of cloud that soak
down on English towns, and wheel around
some distant Himalaya -
Or just like how it batters coasts and carves
continents new shapes, whilst leaving salts
on my chilled-stiff flesh, as we hobble
over sand which is not sand but sludge, and
yet still gallop back and back for more -
Our time is better spent not seeing
ourselves as fragments, floating on other shores.
Every seven seconds, we collide on the sand
we gathered when we drifted here – all old cups and papers,
residue, coasters, things to help quit smoking,
a marriage contract pulling back and forth,
ourselves from ourselves.
We lie, buffeted
by the flotsam of our years.
Outside, spring passes,
and we find with some amazement
that the moon still has a pull. The bath tub’s caked
and gummed with days. The window’s started splitting,
letting in more rain.
Somewhere, great tails
dash the seas, and we barely face each other.
I’m working on a website.
It has been a good year for me, in regards to my poetry. I feel as though my work has continued to improve, and the number of acceptances I’ve received from publications has helped my confidence and willingness to continue.
In light of this, I’ve been trying to put together a simple website to act as something of a portfolio. It can be found here, for now: http://bnorris12345.wix.com/benjaminnorrispoetry although this obviously isn’t the finished site.
I’m delighted and honoured to be included in this important and ambitious project, organised by the Human Rights Commission and including work by leading poets from around the world.
The collection is available to purchase at http://www.amazon.co.uk/In-Protest-Poems-Human-Rights/dp/0957521030/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382433376&sr=8-1&keywords=in+protest+150+poems
Written for Zymbol Magazine, read by Benjamin Norris (and Anthoine).
Here returns a sky of broken clay pots clamouring
for my attention amid the memories of snow.
Our prayers for a crack in the clouds above answer
me in realisations that all of these are moving south,
and soon you will see them too. A new bird breaks my sight.
A pause chased my lip: it seems you
weigh your heat with consequence when
all has bloomed, and starts to dry:
you said something else too: you chose
to remove the sunlight on your tongue, that thing
which formed a family, you pulled us close:
still life streams and we become you:
an image, too: there were once days like this –
our mouths moved and music came:
these feet, bridging
something gone and something not so -
all roots return. The trees do their trick,
pretending to die.
Days to come, unseen,
we get on our knees and curl
before the mists descend
with all their clatter.
January slid through her fingers, weeks ago. Soon there was
nothing left of it – they said „it is happen-
-ing to me too” they said „don’t even panic” but
for one; the days are not lengthening, not
springing up sooner. For her; quite
the opposite occurs.