When They Are Gone
The apprentice
to
the sorcerer
is grasping
tiny mementos
muttering
incantations
by
caravan light
over
wisps
of hair
and
fragments
of bone
lying among
ashes
in the cold grate
blackbirds
are
singing
everywhere
in Kiffisia
rushing
into the garden
she finds
memory
in dust
conjuring the
Shape-shifter
silent invertebrate hunter
time-traveller
on a restless tide
weightless
in an impermanent pool
Siobhan Cawson-Mooney is our current Poet-in-Residence. Every now and then we find a voice that sings to us. Those voices that show us something new - voices from out there that somehow
At first look and listen Rick and his brand of performance poetry might seem a bit ballsy and belligerent. Righteous, chip paper written rants on the state of society. Scratch the surface though and you'll find a sensitive sage, a watcher, a man who sees through the surfaces