All poems are the property and copyright of (c) Stephen Sinclair, works are not to be copied or used without written permission, please contact stephen with any enquiries regarding these.
The Dwarf and the Stripper and Other Poems
Addenda Publishing, 2004
“A virtuoso performance … superb poems …” Iain Sharp, Sunday Star Times, January 2004
Home is the strangest destination
Familiar sights can pull you suddenly
Down dark winding stairs
The silence after exhalation
Calls you to a place once seen
In forgotten dreams. The novelty
Of shrieking plumage, giant insect species
Cannot catch you unawares
Quite as when a song thrush funnelling the night air
-souvenir que veux-tu dire?-
a bolt of despair
(and then there’s the fear)
Home is somewhere you have never been.
They are going down now
to the streets, to the rivers, the beaches.
They leave their beds and their houses
to stream out into the open air
driven by what obscure impulse we cannot tell.
See how they stare at the pebbles in their hands
turning them in their palms, studying each facet
or stand together in close observation of a parking meter.
Is this the truth that dreams yield?
Is this the secret knowledge we all seek?
Tomorrow I will go to the library
I will borrow a different kind of book:
one on electrical circuitry
another on how to build kitset aeroplanes.
One may try
For joy and
Not see his
Own sad end.
Two can fly
All day and
Die. Add but
One and yea:
All our joy.
A decade past
A small town
A hotel room
A glass of flat beer on the bedside table
Steam from the thermal baths
Seasons the night air
North an old city
Closes its borders
South the new
Winds me in with
Two hundred miles of tarseal
In the next room
An overnighting shearer
Keeps me awake with his
Nothing in this room
Save memory and conjecture
Here at the axis of the island
Hills, roadsigns circle in the darkness.