Dockyard Press

Poetry

Rebuttal — 5 March 2020

by Bart Lessard

Cannot hear the falconer? Can so! What business is it of his, or of yours, Whether my gyre widens at all? Also, the beast had this to pass along: “Whom are you calling rough?”

#BartLessard #Yeats #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Poem — 21 February 2020

by dubh

man in ra library usin wan ay ra computers

shouts at ra screen

“a'm gonnae gie er a sair fuckin face”

#dubh #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Poem — 13 February 2020

by Ivy Abbott

Everyone is talking about the flood waters rising. “It hasn’t been this bad since 1915 when they had to lift their skirts and walk on planks in the downtown areas for a week. A little boy drowned!” “A hundred years flood,” they say with awe I am scared, like them, but it’s a familiar feeling with me. Seems like I’m always slipping my banks Careening towards the edges and flowing over them because, even if I wanted to, the path I have worn is no longer a place where I can move, not really I’m too much I’m welling I’m angry and this job, this life, this country keeps proving too wrong. I cannot fit. Why would anyone build so close, knowing what rivers do? In the good times, we forget what havoc we get from an angry river The ocean side view is the good life until the hurricane approaches. I don’t know why but my friend owns one of those big snakes, a constrictor. Recall the urban legend of how they measure their owners when they get big enough. Stretching long and smooth against them in the bed, the length a serpentine body against the unsuspecting sleeping man in the dark. Let us see if the one who has fed them for over a decade will now be a meal, if the time proves right to consume. I certainly have not felt like a caterpillar, cocooning into a primordial goop of nothing to reform into a masterpiece with wings. The flood will recede and eventually you will be lulled again into the return of idyllic shores. You’ll tell cautionary tales to your children about the time the river slipped its banks. Or you dream about what you might tell your children about what you did when America began to fall. Like you’re a hero for not stepping in and being pulled away. hash tag resist. hash tag me too. One time I got under my porch for some maintenance and there was an empty pack of smokes and a dry snakeskin. I don’t smoke, but I know how the eyes get cloudy unexpectedly, just before you need to burst your skin The smokes were from a stalker. A rapist. I’m cold all over but I understand. It’s nothing personal. “You just mean nothing. I measured and it was time.”

#IvyAbbott #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Poem — 21 January 2020

by Tracy Taggart

Fog on the water Steam rises from my tea cup Three ducks on the pond

#TracyTaggart #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Cause and Effect — 6 January 2020

by Barry Graham

Scottish physicists declare that the universe may stop expanding and implode instead

English physicists declare that neutrinos suggest that effect could precede cause

An American woman dances with joy in a kitchen, laughing and singing, while

a Scottish man melts butter in a skillet, breaks eggs, drops them in the butter,

adds pepper and salt, flips the eggs with a spatula, adds more salt, more pepper,

toasts two slices of bread, puts them on a plate, covers them with the eggs,

hands her the plate and a fork, kisses her, kisses her — the dance goes on

#BarryGraham #Poetry #DockyardPress

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poem — 30 December 2019

by daishin stephenson

homeless man slips off coat wraps up dog

#DaishinStephenson #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Goddess in the Lightning — 23 December 2019

by Lisa MoonCat

Thunder Rolls and shakes the roof. I cried out to the Goddess, Trust Is So Hard!

Then don't. She said. I'll carry you anyway.

Lightning cracked. I saw her silhouette. Giant Spider crouching over my house.

Your tears are my worship. Your body has been my temple. You are me as much as I am You.

#LisaMoonCat #Poetry #DockyardPress

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Because the Night Belongs to Us — 5 December 2019

by Babs Nicgriogair

Because the night belongs to us

Tha na sràidean teth timcheall a h-uile duine a’feitheamh ’s a’feitheamh Ri dol fodha na gréine Amhaich thioram, mionach falamh A’gluasad ’s a’ gearan An-fhoiseil an -fhoiseil Ramadan ’s an t-òg mhìos, ann an Glaschu , tha e doirbh

Tha an latha cho fada tha m’fhoighidinn cho goirid Tha mi feitheamh ort a ghràidh ’s an t-acras orm

Tha na mnàthan timcheall a’geurachadh an sgeinean gearradh ’s mion-gearradh, a’feitheamh ’s a’feitheamh Ri dol fodha na gréine Biryiani, Aloo Gobi Praisean a’goil ’s am baile air bhoil An-fhoiseil an-fhoiseil Ramadan ’s an t-òg mhìos ann an Glaschu, tha e doirbh

Tha mi air leughadh ’s air leaghadh Leantainn recipe ùr Tha mi feitheamh ort a ghràidh ’s an t-acras orm

Taobh a-muigh tha na càraichean a’casadaich ’s na boy racers bragail a’ feitheamh ’s a’feitheamh Ri dol fodha na gréine Gach fear gun cead òl ach draibhigeadh mar misgear Brands Hatch a risd An -fhoiseil an fhoiseil Ramadan ’s an t-òg mhìos ,ann an Glaschu, tha e doirbh

Tha am bòrd deiseil Àite ann airson dithis Tha mi feitheamh ort a ghràidh ’s an t-acras orm

Tha na busaichean làn , tha na solais dearg ’s tu air an 41 taobh an ear a’feitheamh ’s a’feitheamh ri dol fodha na grèine an rathad romhad , teanga fhada dhubh a’ rock ‘n roiligeadh an -fhoiseil, an-fhoiseil Ramadan ’s an t-og mhìos ann an Glaschu, tha e doirbh

Ithidh sinne le ar làmhan Gu slaodach, gu sùghmhor Tha mi feitheamh ort a ghràidh ’s an t-acras orm

Because the night belongs to us (translation)

The streets are hot round here Everybody waiting, just waiting For sundown Dry throats, empty bellies grumbling and groaning restless, rest less Ramadan in Glasgow in June is hard

The day is so long My patience so short I am waiting for you my love And I am hungry

The women round here are sharpening their knives Chopping and dicing, waiting just waiting For sundown Biryiani, Aloo Gobi Pots boiling, the town in a frenzy restless, rest less Ramadan in Glasgow in June is hard

I have been reading and melting Following a new recipe I am waiting for you my love And I am hungry

Outside the cars are coughing Cocky boy racers waiting just waiting For sundown Each one tee-total but driving like a drunk Brands Hatch again restless, rest less Ramadan in Glasgow in June is hard

The table is set For two I am waiting for you my love And I am hungry

The buses are full, the lights are red You’re on the 41 east-side, waiting just waiting For sundown The road before you a long black tongue rocking and rolling restless, rest less Ramadan in Glasgow in June is hard

We will eat with our hands Slowly and succulently I am waiting for you my love And I am hungry​

#BabsNicgriogair #Poetry #Gaelic #Glasgow #DockyardPress

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Poem — 11 November 2019

by Bart Lessard

Seams of ice atop the branch A snap of powder underfoot Through the door a fireside seat Window looking in Window looking out

#Poetry #BartLessard #DockyardPress

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Poem — 5 November 2019

by Bart Lessard

william carlos williams did his best work with a s t e t h o s c o p E

#Poetry #BartLessard #DockyardPress

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