Orison for Sheet Music Stores
in the American Mid-West
(Gregory Horne)

Posted on August 7, 2015 by in Heightened Talk

IMG_4091after Kurt Sepmeier’s reading of Michael Drayton’s ‘Since There’s No Help’ *

The gasp ‘last!’ long-distance-wise
largely because of our situations, po-
tentially we knew it was futile and
all reasonings were diminished, we
became New Mexico and Chicago
respectively; we finally stopped talking.

Since there’s no hope, I will turn
to the recorder, when music recovered
from the page might come alive
like suede as it moves on a back
across a hall of preserved antiquity.
I pray that sheet music survives here,
so that I might survive here too, without
you.

 

* J Anderson (2013). Favourite Poem Project: Chicago; The Poetry Foundation, Chicago USA.

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Gregory Horne is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in a number of Australian print and online journals including Meanjin, Southerly, Island, Cordite Poetry Review, Rabbit Journal, Verity La, Foam:e and Best Australian Poems 2012.
He was shortlisted for the Axel Clark Memorial Prize in 2014. Gregory lives with his wife and three children in the Blue Mountains NSW.

 

Apocrypha (Gregory Horne)

Posted on June 14, 2014 by in Heightened Talk

Apocrypha (Gregory Horne)

Pews 3After Bugs Bunny in Drag

the first real girl

I loved sat at the end

of the last pew

in St Lawrence’s.

Next to her,

her jet black mother,

a great hulk of grief,

a lump of observance.

The sacristy beyond

was a closed door

on my Sunday dreams;

behind it, football calls

and the ‘meep’

of the roadrunner,

perhaps a library

of children’s books

written in 1940s America,

telling older tales of loco-

motives and mesas

and circling wagons.

Doors have never

been more closed.

Frankincense shook me

awake and she with hair

like my best friend David,

prayed, I would say,

for my future.

The homily was science

fiction, classic post-war stuff.

A small gold chalice hid

behind a lace veil

in a small gold box.

A red lamp flickered,

but stayed alight,

with all the intensity

of a stolen glance.