Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Tuesday poem #610 : Mari-Lou Rowley : Some Sentences

 

 

Today is a behemoth gargling with lye
diazepam droll and forceps.

Who knows weather vain and particulate
midges and smoke, wind and seeds.

Movement is futile stunned unconscious
Bombus insecta against the picture window.

Neuropathy and tinnitus or fridge noise
or gales across the parched plains.

Man tracking the grizzly that mauled him
Ursus cousin versus stupid human.

Today inside looking out on the couch or
chesterfield depending on whether here or there.

 

 

 

 

 

Eco-science poet and interdisciplinary adventurer Mari-Lou Rowley has encountered a timber wolf, come between a black bear and her cub, interviewed an Italian astronaut, found over 66 four-leaf clovers, and published ten collections of poetry. Her most recent books are Catastrophe Theories (Anvil Press 2022), Unus Mundus (Anvil Press 2013) and Transforium (JackPine Press 2012) in collaboration with visual artist Tammy Lu. Her work has appeared internationally in literary, arts and science-related journals including the Journal of Humanistic Mathematics (US) and Aesthetica Magazine’s (UK) Creative Works Competition.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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