Poem inspired by Kevics students art exhibition


The youngsters are creating,

playing with jags of lightning,

tugging with love cross-dressed

teddy-bears, gazing over

cracked sea-lines, ripping photos of

themselves, smashing bones

with bone hammers,

de-composing clothes with gaps

showing bandages,

bandaged breasts matching the moon.

Do they need all that mirrored sun

to make their hair erect?

They step among skyscrapers

and giant telephone boxes

on to a smooth, white, gelid void

[stern lions so blue knowing they are to die].

Is this white fluid I spy

nestling in the lower lid of an eye?

Mother and calf meet.

The calf is thin bones

sticking out.

This is the world then that they inherit:

crushed lavender sprays in two clamped fists.

What have they been taking?

A painted envelope

they stuff with polished images of us,

posting it with pitiless nails to the wall.

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Comment by Marian van der Veen on February 27, 2017 at 17:09

This poem reads almost like sceneries in a dream. Dramatic and sort of... sinister too.

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