Antiquarian (poem)

Antiquarian

Life is hectic being a bibliopole
being very busy sure can take its toll
searching through dusty halls like some restless mole
to find an ancient tome left in some hole
then selling it for a fortune is my goal

Joanne Fisher


Word count: 39 + prompt

This was written with the prompt bibliopole provided by Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #286

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

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The Stars Below (poem)



The Stars Below

feverishly scratching
on a manuscript
all day all night

the words drumming
leaking through
your matchstick fingers
onto the blotted parchment

a spider dancing
across the page
with ink stained legs

"the stars!"

you mutter
to a shadowy room

"the stars!"

the windows shuttered
the doors firmly bolted

"hissing

the stars
tell me everything
I know!"

Joanne Fisher


As I’m still recovering I thought I would share an older poem that I don’t think I’ve published here before. The title is stolen from an Ursula K. Le Guin short story. That story is about a mind that’s been turned inward, and so is this poem. This poem is also about the creative process and the intense focusing on what you’re working on to the exclusion of everything else…

I’ve been rather ill over the last few days, which is why I haven’t published anything here for a time, but I am getting better and normal service should resume shortly 🙂

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Over My Dead Body (Day3, 13 Days of Samhain)

Over My Dead Body


Over my dead body
they piled rock and stone
charms and enchantments
all to ensure that
I could never return

they were pitiful fools
for their futile efforts

inevitably I will transcend death
once more
I will rise up 
rule the world
and everything in it

this time
nothing can stop me


Joanne Fisher

This was written with the prompt Over My Dead Body provided by Sammi Cox’s 13 Days of Samhain.

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Superimposed (poem)


Superimposed


you're always superimposed
on my memories, so
no matter where I go
or whatever I do
there you are
topmost in my thoughts

I would never admit it openly,
but I miss you a lot of the time
so wherever I am I always
take you with me, 
and now I'm unsure 
how this could ever change


Joanne Fisher

Word count: 57 + prompt

This was written with the prompt superimpose provided by Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #279.

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Broken Glass (poem)

Broken Glass


I travel down to Dunedin
bearing two wineglasses
delicately hand-painted
like stained glass
but broken

& you sit cross-legged
on the your bare wooden floor
trying to make something
greater than its pieces

another puzzle to sort out
like your jigsaws
like the both of us

with no final pattern
discernible yet

imagine if there was someone
who could piece together
my own fragments -

I too could be a
shining
new 
object


Joanne Fisher

First published in JAAM 12

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Confines (poem)

Confines


today I'm at South Brighton
walking along the foaming sand
watching escalator waves
rolling in
mechanically
I'm holding my camera tightly
as if you were contained
within its body
& you are

earlier 
we were in the garden
& I was storing images
your rare smiles
frozen
for a single
microsecond
the flurry of movement
caught
indelibly

later 
all I have is
a dozen blurred pictures
of your embarrased 
shy smiles
trying to escape
the lens


Joanne Fisher


This poem was first published in JAAM 8.

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

At Graeme’s (poem)

At Graeme's


the sun is here
but a cold wind blows
through the living room 
windows
I stare out onto 
a landscape
forever falling away
tiers of corrugated rooftops
& granite buildings
to a sawdust harbour
Dunedin sprawls
like a crumpled jersey
looking down or up
there is always something
to see...

soft jazz on the stereo
& you sit tapping away
on your laptop
about climbing rocks
I am living on muesli bars
& honey nut logs
we are filling our time
with lines on pages
waiting


Joanne Fisher


This was first published in the New Zealand Poetry Society Anthology Climbing the Flame Tree

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Last Days (poem)

Last Days


the only artist 
that is truly
appreciated
is a dead one

for there is a finite 
number of completed 
canvasses stacked in dry
cellars for the art dealers 
to handle

a live artist has too many
possibilities & versions
to try -
I have said this to Theo

*

I translate this world
landscapes, buildings &
people
with myself amongst it

see the shifting layers:
the cobalt blues, chromium yellows
emerald greens & vermilions
pressed into the canvas
the crooked churches, dark
cypresses, the sunflowers
I painted for Gauguin,
the pine trees in the asylum

*

every canvas is one less
variation, or piece of night sky
daubed with large white blots
of stars

I work in more & more of myself
until

I merge with the paints &
there is nothing left

*

Auvers is so real
the world is so real
but dull, unimaginative, 
lacking understanding

I write to Theo: We can
only make our pictures speak
& I am risking my life for it

*

I'm painting this canvas
of yellow wheatfields &
black smudges of crows
only there are pathways
leading to nowhere, no way 
to escape

the storm beckons


Joanne Fisher


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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

It Rained in Nelson (poem)




It Rained in Nelson


1

our caravan of tumblers,
jugglers, musicians, &
actors

roaming players searching
for an audience

I never believed in 
the actual existence
of Nelson -
no one I knew
had ever made it 
there

but after journeying
through Kaikoura &
Blenheim

there it was

2

there was an intensity
of sunlight caught
at the edge of black clouds
gulls wheeling
sky-dancing before
the oncoming storm

then it clouded over
raining all day & night
just after our performance
there was sheet lightning
that lit up the entire sky
like a blue neon light
looking more like some
bad stage effect
than the real thing

even the thunder 
was unconvincing -
sounding more like 
Thunder Sound Effect No.5

3

what if the weather
had been better?
maybe we could have 
stumbled over the
land rises to find
the sea or some
empty field

a bonfire lit in the
remains of the night
someone strumming
everyone's favourites &
a joint being passed
from hand to hand

with a hazy head
I would have looked up
at a dark sky littered
with swollen stars
the wheeling cosmos
dancing in slow-time
with our voices


Joanne Fisher


First published in Takahe 45.

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Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher

Dazzling (poem)

Dazzling


Her eyes were dazzling
I opened the door wide
letting her into my room

she walked up to me,
began kissing my neck
then I felt her fangs

puncture my throat
she drank my blood
as I stood there helpless

under her command
leaving me weak
I know tomorrow night

she'll visit again


Joanne Fisher

Word count: 53 + prompt

This was written with the prompt dazzling provided by Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #272.

Please support this blog – Ko-fi 🙂

Šī¸2022 Joanne Fisher