A baby’s cry
in a pop song.
How can a baby
pray?
A baby’s cry
in an opera.
How can a baby
disobey?
*
Rachel McAlpine
Month: January 2016
More secrets
Ancestors surround you
with a calm possessive air.
Nobody knows your neck squeaks.
Nobody knows your heart
is a bowl of poems.
*
Rachel McAlpine
A natural slip
Last night
I ate a snack
of gruyere, gherkins
and potatoes.
Later checked my diary.
That squiggle did not say
‘meeting OOW’
but ‘Tom Scott’s play.’
*
Rachel McAlpine
Thought and long
A tall thought
a built thought
is a dissertation.
A short thought
a wrought thought
is a minuet.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Writing a book
I am writing a book.
It will take some time.
The book has a title: Flatlantis
and another: Tropical Ice.
The poems will grow like pack-ice.
They will flow like sweat.
They will be easy to read.
They will be hard to write.
When the book is published
I will be a grown-up.
How will that feel?
Curious.
*
Rachel McAlpine
T-shirts
Compulsive reading of T-shirts
seeking the meaning of life
or at least
an involuntary poem.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Somewhere a poet
Somewhere a poet
is cleaning a bathroom.
Somewhere a cleaner
is writing a poem.
Longevity
If you want eternal life
don’t be a human
or a web site.
Be
a sea
anemone.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Yard by yard
Yard by yard
it’s hard.
Inch by inch
a cinch.
You’re in pursuit
of happiness
but happiness
is running after you.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Say less
Say less.
Mean more.
Win the match.
Lose the score.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Poems in the wild—Rachel McAlpine 