(A cento comprised of lines from the forthcoming Chamber Poets anthology, Shots from the Chamber.)
everything alive can be made small
everything alive can be made small
old
trees wake themselves to see
we
hunt apart, with a tidy sense of flock
we
rarely complete our plans
it
was inevitable we’d be surrounded
depending
on the conditions
a
cow could open a car door if it wanted to
they
learn the kick and the struggle
cheering
for the villains
push
against invisible hands
I
am behind my eyes again
sea
gulls quarrel on the lawn
we
must eat something or starve
the
wet reflections shimmer
dissolving
into the sky’s mirror
the
scent of eucalyptus thickens
fingers
of light ghost the shadows
the
wind not saying anything at all
losing
your footing on the sandbar
the
stab of memory, its sting
you
can’t trust a doctor
perhaps
there is counselling in fantasy land
the
museum of broken relationships
the
outskirts of consciousness
enough
of your nonsense
it
feels right to be here
yes
I can make this right
Brilliant! A good cento is hard to do, so congratulations :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Andrew. I suppose you spotted your line?
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