Archive
From a Notebook Weighing 194 Grams
by Rodney Wood
the sky’s a razor in summer light
flies crawl down windows singing
an elm accepts death without complaint
shadows count the size of my dreams
the day has yet to be decoded
white comets across my wrists
my mother with a light round her head
a magpie paddles across the street
the house at night relaxes its stays
shopping trolleys piled high with Bibles
father alive in the cycle of days
crushed beer cans by the railway line
a forest of bottles covered in sun tan lotion
children press damp eyes to the railings
God is an ice cream cone topped with a cherry
I’m wearing a hat, need a shave, diazepam
and the rain’s sudden applause.
Rodney Wood lives in northeast Hampshire, U.K., and has had work in various magazines, anthologies and on the radio. He writes: “Fragments made me think of the person from Porlock, TS Eliot, Raymond Carver and a huge iceberg with chunks falling off to create giant waves whose ripples spread over the world.”
What the Horoscope Says
by Rodney Wood
it says carrier bags make me nervous
it says I dream of birdseed hanging
above gnomes and a lake of roses
it says the breakdown won’t help
it says I’m waiting for something
better to come along, like another day
it says love is a valley of dead things
it says I can withstand high winds
and am not afraid of grotesque stones
it says I strain myself in a bad way
it says soles are worn and slip easily
but my feet want to dance out the door
it says I will be involved in replacement
it says the new moon makes me flexible
and it says someone will weep for me
Rodney Wood lives in northeast Hampshire and has recently been spending his time writing poems about gigs — everything from thrash metal to Tibetan monks — that he’s seen at the local arts centre. His work has appeared in many magazines, including, this past year, nthposition, Stride and Sunk Island Review.
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