Tilt, Literary Notes V2:E1


- Housing Block
-
by Gram Davies

As gypsy, tramp or troubadour, I wander
through the two-doored office of the Borough:
ailing benefactor, dying god decrepit.
The keeper keeps me waiting, aching
in this cubicle beneath dire lighting.
She is warder to the meagre hoard,
squandered birthright of the people,
coffers of the unrequited tithe.
I am rootless, roofless, but for these shoes,
my broad hat of brimmed leather;
she, no draconian, dresses in dragon-hide;
lizard riddles, pretty, encrusted armour,
soft compliments that turn blood.
I know six-thousand trusted spells for "help,"
releasing them in spinning volleys.
She deflects each one with cantrips, holy-signs -
eye of gecko, sprig of holly, spray of yarrow-
we are wholly rung-around with echoes.
No give, no chink or niche, I am cast out.
A wall of brick, a barricade but not a house.

 

- Free Party Pantoum -
by Gram Davies

 

Beaming lasers on night-time clouds; rolling
drums come stampeding the dark wood, passing
loud. People, ruggedly freakish in welly-boots, ribbons; trailing
along tracks crammed with cars, edgewise, makeshift.
 
Loud people, ruggedly freakish in welly-boots; ribbons trailing
round dance-floor clearings. Deep roots winding
along tracks crammed with cars, edgewise. Makeshift
marquee tarpaulin, crates of jumbled vinyl, friendly DJs working
 
round-dance-floor clearings – deep roots. Winding
cables to amps, speakers, UV lights, diesel genny under
marquee tarpaulin. Crates of jumbled vinyl, friendly DJs working
madly, a dance of controlled mania; connecting
 
cables to amps, speakers, UV lights; diesel genny under-
going refuelling. On pills, marijuana, raving
madly, a dance of controlled mania, connecting
people; cloven-footed, pixie-winged strobe-silhouettes.
 
Going, refuelling on pills, marijuana; raving
teenagers, adults, dogs; even children playing –
people. Cloven-footed, pixie-winged strobe-silhouettes,
shared cans, smokes, water-bottles, smiles,
 
teenagers, adults, dogs, even children. Playing
drums, come, stampeding the dark wood, passing
shared cans, smokes, water-bottles; smiles
beaming. Lasers on night-time clouds, rolling.


Gram Davies was born and lives in England, where he survives on a low income in the relatively affluent vale of Taunton Deane, Somerset. He is twenty-eight years old, and grew up in a rural location near Sedgemoor, on the edge of the levels. Poetry and music have been integral to his life since childhood. He has previously been published in the Centrifugal Eye (Issue 2).

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