becopoetry

Poetry Music Thoughts and Reflections

— May 1, 2023
The Blues of my Arms — August 24, 2022

The Blues of my Arms

(after Duplex by Jericho Brown)

in her bedside drawer a secret sharp
on my bedside table a scolding tea

a tea that burns my tongue and throat
into my stomach down into my arms

down into my arms and up into lungs
lungs that pause and clench the heart

my heart that clenches to a question 
is the skylight closed in her 14-year-old room

my 14-year-old’s room built eight years ago
which went unused when her head lay with mine

unused when her head lay next to mine
before the ghost in the blues of my dreams

in the blues of my dreams a ghost in my arms
circles the altar of our family room

our family room with a cornered orchid 
pink flowers faded beside the stone

pink flowers beside a stone I once held 
when I birthed her raw out over my room

when I birthed her roar out over our room
that first night alone her held in my arms

this night now alone without her here held 
a silence raw between our rooms

in her bedside drawer her secret was sharp
on my bedside table a scalding tea 






Centrepiece — January 22, 2020

Centrepiece

Portrait of lady on porcelain plate

Pink dresses dancing for clergy

Little fire in a chandelier

 

I take pause at the edge

of a gallery in branded sandals

one foot off the floor

before the toes of a Persian Queen

summoned AND SO I WILL GO

UNTO THE KING WHICH IS NOT ACCORDING

TO THE LAW AND IF I PERISH

I PERISH        I turn

 

Under the arches of the exhibiting hall

real-life bride performs a pirouette

two men        each eye their lens

one on one knee

the other circumnavigating

light in crafted spin

 

 

 

 

 

poem and drawing by Rebecca Sullivan

 

An Anarchist Manifesto — December 21, 2019
Plato’s Last Supper — June 10, 2017
In Collaboration With Max — January 19, 2017

In Collaboration With Max

In Collaboration with Max is poetry composed by Max Lewis and Rebecca Sullivan. Max experiences autism as well as delayed intellectual and physical growth. Max’s poetics is experimental and he can be heard expressing himself in venues across Melbourne. Rebecca and Max collaborate to advocate for the voice of poets with disability. A selection of poems from In Collaboration with Max were first Published in Southerly Literally Journal 76.2

In Collaboration with Max includes 9 poems and a Poetics Blue Print titled The ‘Special Needs’ of Poetry.

A recital of a small selection of the collaboration is viewed here

A recital  of a selection of the collaborative poems with improvised jazz is found here

The audio versions of all poems in the collaboration are found below.

a song in his own voice here

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HIStory of Father Tongue — October 18, 2016
Nation — September 23, 2016

Nation

the armed guard is dressed

in 19th century floral

pink stilettos peeking in

a shadow of layered petticoat

 

folds separate the women

from the men and the young

paper coiled into tubes

 

a black helmet

upside down nests

a crossed smile

umbered and chained

to feet of an old plastic doll

 

an ivory cat reflecting

on painted boards

sky holes gaping

through serrated mesh

 

the flag wooden is tacked

to the white wall broken

in new foundations

bought tolled and taxed

Museum —

Museum

in four limbs around an oval

man cerated

 

edges framed

and falling to cedar

 

expanding in triangular

their shadows white

 

footprints amidst

a maroon sea

 

the light of ceiling

soaked in a leaking flood

 

arial footed

lines pasted to the floor

 

a small diamond window hidden

in the belly of outside

Yesterday’s Bleach — September 12, 2016

Yesterday’s Bleach

After ‘A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed’ by Jonothon Swift

 

 

Sugar granules sink in foam

on a table where Sappho is

 

stuck between pages

preening Ovid’s Amores.

 

A fall happens,

coffee spills on swift shoes,

 

a copy of ‘Men’s Health’

splays on concrete.

 

Behind him, a little black dress

in a window with accessories,

 

gifts, and a stack of books

titled ‘Freedom’.

 

With translation on his lips,

he mouths something

 

about Gulliver, wiping

liquid from the city street.

 

Saying nothing in return,

Corinna picks up her empty cup,

 

cures her hair with a pin

and eyes the messy magazine.

 

Apostrophe driven on bittersweet,

she turns to the sky,

 

O cloudy context fold in,

this battlefield is yesterday’s bleach.