Poems in the wild #7

Poem #7 (jack of hearts) was released outside the Music Swop Shop on Elgin St, Carlton, on top of a bunch of Inpress. How I roll, you know. No finders yet...

The witch of experience

flatters against the wall

spun with spider sugar

ripped with tears.

The rattle of intellect

is fat against her life

brief and thick with salt

stiff with silver coins.

Scrape her clean and

you will find a sweet

and dead seductive child.


Poem #8 will be released today via my lovely assistant @timsterne

Poems in the wild #6

Last week I was feeling distinctly uninspired (as I have been generally of late when it comes to writing - even for me), so I asked the lovely Tim Sterne if I could steal a paragraph he wrote and chop it up into a poem. He's a nice lad, and he said yes. So it's kindof a collaborative effort. Kindof. I might have myself a business card printed up that says: Anna Ryan-Punch - Poetry Architect.

The card (queen of hearts) is still AWOL, but was released on a table in the front bar of Markov Place.


The woman in the motorised
wheelchair was once
a child with a secret.
When her bones fused with needles
her skin slick with sweat,
the window would swing open
and she would
rise
elegantly
above sodden bedclothes
float into the night air
drift above the city
watching lights blink
tasting nightclouds on her tongue.
They wouldn't have believed
she did fly.

Poems in the wild #5

Last week's poem (6 of clubs) was released on an Epping line train at Thornbury station. Where is it now? Probably delayed.

Always been the sort to

stop mid sentence

Not end of chapter or right hand

bottom corner or full stop

Just rest the butterflied

paperback and close my eyes.

Always been the type to fall

asleep where I shouldn't

Never waiting for bed over

someone else's carpet

For home over lawns

Unable, in both ways to find

my place myself when I wake.

Poems in the wild #4

Last Friday I released poem #4 (9 of spades) at Thousand Pound Bend in Little Lonsdale Street. My coffee was excellent, but no one has yet claimed capture of the poem.



Three things about his mother he

knew for certain:

She went to the cinema as an

excuse to cry somewhere other than

the shower.

She stole one item per supermarket

shop, and took the tomatoes

off the truss before checkout.

Her hands smelled like soap

and her lap smelled like old apples.

Three things about his mother he

did not know for certain:

How he could be a man in her eyes

How first he had caught up to her

shoulders, and then;

How suddenly she was small.


Poem #5 was released yesterday...

Poems in the wild #3

Poem #3 (3 of clubs) was released last Friday on a table at Rue Bebelons, house of fine wines and lunchtime baguettes. It was gone when I came back from the toilets, but whoever caught the little whipper-snapper is keeping mum about it.

In any case, here is poem #3:

She licks her wounds, warm

and earth-sweet, ripped open

like old ground with the smell

of hot new blood. She had

received them in her wolf-time,

days after the moon was

a fingernail and her own

was a claw.

Low through the teeth

twigs snap sharp with the dark

Dog music curled at last against

the welcoming rock, her new

smooth legs bleed and tremble

with the memory of wildness.

Poem #4 (9 of spades) will be released sometime today...

Poems in the wild #2

Last Friday I released poem #2 at the Cinema Nova bar:

I haven't heard from anyone, so perhaps it is still roaming the streets of Carlton like a forlorn university student without a coffee.

Anyway, this was poem #2 (2 of hearts):

You said: 'Life is too short

to read the comments'

and I didn't know if you

were being metaphorical.

I drew breath to jolly along:

'Comment hard, die young'

but the glowing heart had

drawn screens across

your eyes, the warmest white

light of kisses drawn

from internet lovers.

Poem #3 will be released later today...

Poems in the wild #1

Last Friday I released my first poem into the wild in the Anthologies section at Readings, Carlton. I know, pretty wild.

It was caught and tweeted by @snarkattack:

"Last night, I found a poem in the wild so I took it home"

I am rather pleased and surprised that the first poem was found!

Anyway, in case you can't read the picture, this was poem #1:

You shook the umbrella like

a wet dog, shot rain in

diamond chips onto bitumen.

I wanted to tell you my

greatest fear: that things

would always be the same.

We left bright prints:

each step was not a memory of rain.

Instead, I asked if you

had bought lemons.

You had forgotten, and we waited

for the pattering bus,

our hearts astringent.

Poem #2 will be released sometime today...once I write it...