recent stuff by allan boyd - antipoet

tongue

05 Apr 2020


Bontage

01 Mar 2020

In the beginning

He said: Its criminal

There ought to be a law

 

And we rock the Canning like its 1974

This 10K sonic bitumen strut

The screeching rhythm of ourselves

The stench of rubber burnt on tar

Diesel, petrol. Denim n tats

Escort reds tucked into

Rolled up t-shirt sleeves

A Monaro bicep flex

 

We strut as one huge rock-star body

Into the wide-open road

We are 10 metres tall. Bronze

Black ripple-soled desert boots

White volleys. And if you want blood

Unwritten Letter to the Dead Gods

27 Feb 2020

On western coastal plains
In torrid haze we sit
and weep
Into the dusty mouths of dead gods
Under the star maps
And gnarl of banksia
We once told woodland stories

In the stunning scalpel
Of urban shadow
We watch brittle corridors
Dissolve to bitumen
And pale corrugated colour
A red tail melody - kaarak adrift
In the grey smudge of fresh trainlines
White tails search for suburban hollows
That squawking heritage
That rhythmic degradation
An underground extinction

scattered landscape

20 Feb 2020

Though we are anchored to our mental shores

Uninsured at the Boranup breaks

Telling stories to the wardong

Songs to the unsafe terrain at our feet speak

In beats across the blatant sky

All mud and pindan

All meat and muscle

All bus stops and diesel fumes

Airports and Stadiums

And all streets always end in circles

Return to the sturdy vessel

Bags stored in uber boots

Fire sticks and smartphones crackle electricity

Our apps meet in the western humidity

Heads float over the unwritten landscape

Uluru Statement from the Heart...

26 Sep 2019

As part of our Perth Slam introduction each month, we acknowledge the Wadjuk Noongar people of the Swan Coastal Plain. We also make a point to support the “Uluru Statement from the Heart”, which was released in May 2017 - 50 years after the 1967 Referendum. What is it?

take 5 - remember

12 Sep 2019

this is not a poem
this is not a song
these are all the things
we did when we were young
this is not my story
this is not my tongue
some of the following is true
only the words have been changed
to protect the poetry:
do you remember
when it rained poems
all those wasted tomes
lurching from spent ink
on generic paper
our new bodies
designed by automatic tellers
all the fake news
and invisible words
trained like stunning systems
on the shadow shafts

poetry saved my life

03 Sep 2019

so i said: popped a pretty pristine piece a paper
in my polyester pocket n pulled out a political poem
said poem – poem
shoulda stood still on the side of your slippery street
spat out some syllables and said poem – poem
let’s lift the lying lids off labels in the ladies’ aisle
let’s call it a little lesson in local linguistics n say
poetry saved my life
like a tank-top jesus in a sidebar feed
nobody told me there’d be poems like these
two-minute rhythm rants
stiletto phrases
many many many many words on stages

let loose another

12 Aug 2019

so we let loose
all the stunning words
we spin on stages
inside locked and gated poems
like metered pages
another word stack
packed back to back
behind another word here
in front of another word here
beyond another word here
beneath another word here
yet another word here
layers of lines here
this big list is a poem here
a rhyming dictionary of chronic fictions
of autocratic conniptions
with tight noun light attacks
a language of clenched fists
running verbs we spat

extinction 2.0

03 Aug 2019

sittin on my flat-pack plastic hands
like a britney mannequin squinting
cuffed, roped, panicking n seething
scroll hate-swipe speaking
through troll posts
in the instas, in the tweeters
the likers and the emoji paste venters
all face n thumbs quick sprinting

yet another poem

28 Jul 2019

under the setting saturday sun
we speak truth
and stand in solid sentence
can you sense our veracity?
our molten lava reality?
as we spin these rampant words
into vacant spaces
dripping rapid-fire syllables of eloquent syntax
into open mouths
and brazen faces

listen, as we sell our sins
to gods and masters and lovers
so walls of paper can burn
and gravel can hurt
or build concrete
and smashed locks can break fences
and stripped cyclone from solid steel
are hammers to shape us

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