Poem #49 found - 340km from release point!

Yesterday I had an exciting email from Ross S, who found poem #49, that I released into the sea off the breakwater in Warrnambool, in a jar of two-fruits. It swam a long way!

Ross says:

Hi Anna, 
   Just returned from exploring some wild beaches & thought you'd like to know your poemsinthewild ace of spades card in the two fruits bottle was washed up amongst the high tide treasures at Cotters beach on the west coast of Wilsons prom, about 340 k's (shortest route) from where you launched it.

He also attached a photo, my zip-lock sandwich bag appeared to work well:

Of all the poems least likely to be found! Nice swimming, two-fruits. In case you want to see how far it travelled (and enjoy my nice wobbly line drawn in Paint):

I should throw all my poetry into the sea! Thanks for emailing me, Ross. Made my day!

The final poems #51 & #52 in the wild, plus DIY bonus round

Poem 51 (7 of hearts) was released in Mr Tulk, where I was having a sneaky pre-conference breakfast. Nice work on the eggs, guys.

He eats a pale track around
his apple, inchworming
furrows out of green.
Disposable cutlery of baby teeth
shuffle along shiny skin, pausing
at each new bite to secure his hold,
drive a new peg into the rockface.
He has come full circle, meets
with surprise soft familiar flesh.
Brandishes a bright striped globe
of his achievement, smiling rows
of pearls as though he's lapped the world.

Poem #52 (Joker #2) is made out of phrases in the spam comments I've received on this blog - some of them could be little poems in their own right, apart from the "visit my website buy hot bags and shoes" at the end. It was released during the Reading Matters YA literature conference, in Fiona Wood's excellent book Six Impossible Things (recommended). 

Little things we may take for granted:

Alone: the vary of t-shirts that

somebody, yourself, have laid out.

With others, hand gestures in order

from offensive to polite.

At home: orientation of the bedroom

Without your pet.

The real meat of one’s own company

is obscured, does exist. 

There are 52 cards in a pack, it's true (though I didn't exactly finish releasing all 52 poems in exactly a year, because life), but the one I bought also had two jokers. So I was still left with a king of spades and an ace of diamonds after having released 52 poems.

So, welcome to the DIY bonus round! These cards were released blank, for someone to find, with instructions for them write their own poem on the card and release where they see fit. If anyone does this, I'm hoping they'll tweet me a photo of their release @poemsinthewild, or contact me through the blog. They were both released together at the Little Library in Melbourne Central.

 And we're done! It took a bit over a year, in the end, and only a handful of poems were reported as found, though I know a lot of them were picked up by somebody, as I'd see them disappear. Maybe some of them are being carried around as anonymous bookmarks.

The hardest part of  writing of these regular, mostly unedited poems turned out to be keeping them short enough to fit on a playing card, which isn't much space to say something. Consequently, a lot of them don't really say much, or they're brief images. So few lines doesn't leave much space for story, which my poems often tend towards. Another difficulty was that after I went back to full time work last year (no more writing day, because it was turning out to be a waste of both time and money), I didn't really go to many different places over the course of the weeks: mainly I would go to Carlton, Northland, Northcote Plaza, the park, and home. Life on a tight budget with small children and full time work doesn't lend itself to much variety of travel!

But now they're all out in the world. Thanks to the people who checked in when they found one, the people who helped release them for me, and Lygon St Newsagency for selling me the overpriced deck in the first place.

Poems in the wild #50

Poem #50 (9 of hearts) was released in a copy of Daniel Handler's "Why We Broke Up" (an excellent read, if you haven't) in the Rowden White Library.

Someone ironed morning flat
as a sad business shirt.
The sky is spilled milk,
unfound by any plush pet tongue.
I'm pressed into bed by
celestial lactose intolerance.
There is a failing here
in the vast history of colour.
I'd poke holes in the sky's paper
but I can't lift up my arm.

Poems in the wild #49

 Poem #49 (ace of spades) was released in an old jar of Two Fruits off the breakwater in Warrnambool. Maybe it will wash up one day and be found by somebody! I hope they won't be too disappointed if they were really just hoping for some free Two Fruits.

Let’s straighten out some curly family history.

The youngest of three,

he grew up in a slipstream of brothers.

All his milestones were expected;

all his milky vomits anticipated and caught.

Then the silence stretched out anxiously,

til finally, behind schedule, he spoke.

And then, often.

Poems in the wild #48

Poem #48 (10 of hearts) was released at the Little Library in Melbourne Central.

Poetry folds into itself so tight
Like a spitwad primed in the end
Of a disembowelled Bic.
Spray of mâché and saliva
I have minced words all over
The back of your silent neck.
I'll pulp your whiteboard whiter
With a lick and a promise
Lead verse made shot.

Poems in the wild #47

Poem #47 (7 of clubs) was released at the information kiosks on the ground floor of Union House, University of Melbourne. Apologies for being well behind on this, but it's been a really fucked up month on many fronts.

I have put you to bed
like the end of a book.
You are a little body
in an acreage of bed.
Already butterfly eyelids
you fling an arm back.
It catches my hand
and my skin rises.
I lean over, down
and tuck you away.
Kisses folded softly,
knees as if for prayer.

Poems in the wild #46

Poem #46 (king of clubs) was released at Malahang Reserve playground, while the kids ran around being nutbags.

Click the plus button and
In that white internet frame
You are prompted with
Blank
or
Untitled
But never
New.

Poems #43-45 found!

Poems #43-45 were found (and I assume, taken, as they're not there any more) by poet @redscribe, who tweeted:

"One of my favourites in my favourite library. #poetry @RowdenWhite @poemsinthewild"

Hurrah! Nice choice with the Dorothy Porter, too.

Poems in the wild #43-45

Poems #43-45 have been released in the poetry display in the Rowden White Library, 2nd Floor Union House, Uni of Melbourne. (Long walk from my office).

Poem #43 (5 of hearts)

The address you'll always want
to keep to yourself
is down a cobbled alleyway
it rolls about in wrought iron charm
and pots of red geraniums.
This is the photo of France:
we all take it. Scrolled up
in a box somewhere is the truth:
everyone wants to Know Paris.
An angled shot: graffiti whimsy,
stone corners, navy metal signs.
Jean de Florette stabbed
offstage with a
stale baguette.

Poem #44 (queen of clubs)

Everything is always available.
Children curl over the rough table.
There came the crash, they say.
Petrol became too much, too much.
We are lucky, they say.
We have the chickens, the cow.
They shrug their iron shoulders.
We send them to school.
With rice and beans and tortilllas.
Everything is always available.
We send them every day,
they say.

 Poem #45 (7 of clubs)

If you think maybe you should go,
Go.
What do you need?
There was a night I was packed.
His nappies and little pyjamas
were in the basket underneath.
Baby Panadol, dummies.
In the top bag: my glasses,
some underpants, hard drive,
phone charger, a top.
In the end, I went to bed
on the couch. If you think
maybe you should go; go.

Poems in the wild #42

Poem #42 (king of hearts) was released at the fossils cabinet near the Thomas Cherry building at Melbourne Uni. I walk past that cabinet every day on the way to the car park. There's a very amusing todger-shaped fossil that makes me snigger every time.

She was down in a boulevard store
a week before my father died
pricing black dresses.
He rattled and refolded the paper
at each turn of page
while her eyebrows grouped.
He was fond of bitter complaining
and coffee cups
dwarfed by his red hands.
She was down in a boulevard store
a week after my father died
ordering modern curtains.

Poems in the wild #41

Poem #41 (10 of diamonds) was released in the change slot in Wilson car park, Flinders Lane, after a day of donating books to the Little Library (if you want some YA novels, get there quick), followed by Schnitz. NOM.

Just a grey dim light,
and then it gets bigger, but slow.
Day comes out from under
the ether. She tastes the
bitter anaesthesia at the back
of her throat, drags up
dawn's worn pair of undies.
We're squinting each other
from the couch and the clouds
Out of somewhere the fucking
sun runs out like a three-year-old
full of knives, jumping and joy
high with burning demand.

Poems in the wild #40

Poem #40 (jack of clubs) was released in the (now covered) beer garden at The Clyde hotel on Elgin St, Calrton, where we were forced to stay for a second drink because of the torrential downpour. Life's tough.

Left it so we could never
go back to it again? I did not.
It was the line of her neck
that stopped me, that freeway
sweep of smooth collarbone
two hollows on either side
cool dark spaces just the
right size to nestle a mouse.
Left her at the landing like
that creature in Double Indemnity
a river of legs noir rippling
in grey down the stair runner.
Left it so my shadow bled
into her sun-backed limbs.

Poems in the wild #39

Poem #39 (6 of spades) was released on the front counter at the Brunswick Street Book Store:

It was like he never heard of a shirt.
I found my underpants at birth,
spent them carefully in change rooms.
When he walked, I thought coat hangers
raked his shoulders up at the corners
and curled them out into the fit street.
My belly had skin and sense
but no more babies: I praised it so.
I woke to rain on my face
it was like I had never heard of tears
I found my tears at birth.

Poems in the wild #38

Poem #38 (6 of hearts) was released by the memorial fountain in Apollo Bay.

The mosquitoes are chewing us up
like we're the special of the day
if you like tiny legs and some crunch.
I've been slicked in some sort of
stench that seems to mean I am
fresh meat to wee beasts.
What tiny monsters I cradle and
prick touchy stems that stretch
into confusion, horror, sleep.
If I had an exoskeleton I would
rent it out to slugs and soft
caterpillars, I'd watch them curl.

Poems in the wild #37

Poem #37 (10 of spades) was released in the TV cabinet drawer at the cottage we stayed in in Apollo Bay, Beeches by the Sea. (Very nice, btw).

You had an elaborate system that
you thought would keep us out of bed.
Unhilariously, I already slept
on the couch every night.
The slightly too short was propped
up with cushions for my feet.
I could place every pinprick light
in that room: tv, stereo, computer.
The heavy door lay fat in the frame
and I clenched my body to win fatter.
There was morning, at least once
but I was frowning at fingernails.

Poems in the wild #36

Poem #36 (2 of diamonds) was put in a be-stickered enveloped addressed to "The Dead Letter Office" and posted into a post box in Box Hill.

Please say yes or no for the
benefit of the tape.
We had been informed that
you became a parent without
a formal certificate or even
informal training.
Is this correct?
This new human, as of
the seventeenth of January,
two-thousand-and-nine
has not approved you as carer.
Recognise this formal caution:
your child may reside with you
and you may be tolerated
pending adulthood, as per.

Poems in the wild #35

Poem #35 (Queen of spades) was released in a tree on the edge of the green in Port Fairy, where someone on stage was murdering an already quite murderous Coldplay song.

Feel this sting of the slap
to our collective pride
There's nothing like asking
for what we get slapped down
across a bargaining table
and onto the bouncy floor
like Chicken Marengo.
We steam soft in the meetings
shake our disbelief aside: harden.
Do it again, again, again:
Solidarity: make them hear.

Poems in the wild #34

Poem #34 (Joker!) was released in the foyer after Regina Spektor's (excellent) gig.

We thought ourselves
the most complex creatures
butting some slip of a world
built on slender concepts.
We plodded along like we were
weighted with scones
dragging Devonshire ballast
in a slipstream of jam slather.
Asleep by four, we dreamed
the cheese dreams that sprout
mould during long lunches where
the same conversation is held.
And here they overtook us:
awake, unknown, younger.

Poems in the wild #33

Poem #33 (9 of clubs) was released at the cash register at The Mess Hall, after a very nice glass of the verdicchio.

Knit two, purl two
Knit two, purl two:
Curve of baby shoulders
certainty in newborn cardis.

Knit two, purl one
Knit two, purl one:
Beanies for the footy
bobbled with a pom-pom.

Knit one, drop one
Knit one, purl one:
Mitts to wear to school
mandatory greys and blues.

Knit one, drop one
Purl one, drop one:
Gifts to take away to uni
a scarf of empty needles.

Poems in the wild #31

Poem #31 (Jack of spades) was released in the Rowden White Library, in a Sylvia Plath book. (Lazy release I know - I meant to release this in Flinders on the weekend, but between fish n chips and playing with crabs at the beach I darn well forgot.)

I used to think if I went blind

in just one eye I would only see

one side of every thing: 

dogs propped steady on two legs;

a half-loop of my mother’s smile.

At night in bed I tested divisions:

pressed each palm to a nervous eye.

The night stayed whole

but I slept uneasy.

I am wary of the waxing

and the waning moon,

fear is half a star.