JEFFREY SIDE

Jeffrey Side has had poetry published in various magazines such as Poetry Salzburg Review, and on poetry web sites such as Underground Window, A Little Poetry, Poethia, nthposition, eratio, Ancient Heart, Blazevox, Lily, Big Bridge, Jacket, Textimagepoem, Apochryphaltext, 9th St. Laboratories, P.F.S. Post, Great Works, hutt, ken*again, Poets' Corner, The Dande Review, Poetry Bay, Dusie and CybpherAnthology. He has reviewed poetry for New Hope International, Stride, Acumen, and Shearsman. From 1996 to 2000 he was the assistant editor of The Argotist magazine. He has two poetry books available, Carrier of the Seed, a free ebook from Blazevox Books, which can be downloaded here, and Slimvol from cPress, which is downloadable as a free ebook or can be bought as a hard copy, both available here.

SHE LEFT WITHOUT DELAY

I mark the time when I fly high.
I'll be landing very soon.

I cannot relocate my genes.
I cannot fix the balloon.

When suspicion is in your heart
the innocent are hurt too.

My ambitions are paved with
thoughts of a nature aimed at you.

I'll take you off that man one day.
I'll take you at your word.

I'll take you very far away
to somewhere you preferred.

I need you in this room dead soon.
I need you in the air.

I need you on the moon in June.
I need you everywhere.

I knew someone who looked like you.
She haunts me to this day.

She was a screamer too.
She left without delay.

I’M COUNTING ON YOUR LICKING

You have chosen wisely

the wrong man.

Don’t count your chickens

he hasn’t.

He has married before

And controlled

his birth.

No need for him

to change his goals.

DISTORTED REFLECTIONS

Make room
inside the
steaming glove
if you
have time to sell.

Keep to the right
all things
that please
and things will turn
out well.

You must come
down
upon your knees
and admit
to all your thefts.

You must come
down
upon your knees
and pay
the fine that's left.

I cannot explore anymore.
I cannot count to ten.

The downward journey
was not fair
and roads congest again.

You have your torches
and have
become the symbols
you despised.

You cannot live a lie
this way
and still keep the things
you prized.

B BLOCK

You keep your
services for them.
You keep
the church they know.

And they make
donations regularly
with
one hand on your head.

They lean you
down towards
the cup.
You sip the overflow.

You lick your lips
and move your fingers
far apart.

You have no town
inside you
now.
You have no
travellers there.

Did you send them home again?
Or did they leave for better fare?

I was the one who
landed upon
your
lessened wing.

You had me
and then you had
your king.

I came to you a broken ring
I danced inside
your mouth.

I gave you all my money
before you let me in

I couldn’t be a saviour now.
I couldn’t be
a queen.

I keep looking around
for things
I haven’t seen.

I seldom wandered in
your night.
I seldom took
the fall.

Now deep inside
I know
there’s no
one else to call.

VOICES IN THE LIGHT

Sometimes voices
in the light
will call me back to them.

Back out of this
place where
I have spoken from.

And then I will turn my
back on you,
and on the storm-bled sea.

And even
on the sleeping faces
that will never wake for me.

I will find myself
expanded
out of limitations plight.

And no earthly cause
or battle
will keep me in this fight.

And what will seem like
nothingness to
those that have remained

to me will seem like
childhood
when in the time of May.

CAN’T TALK ANYMORE IN THE OLD WAY

On the days I'd go to visit
I knew
she would be free.

In the mornings she'd do
the Sun Salute,
and in
the evenings
make peppermint tea.

I first caught sight of
her in the
designer sea,
when she was captive in her
swim suit
and the water beckoned me.

On crowded nights she'd
calm me down
with all I expected and without
any sound.

And on days
like this, when the coast is clear,
I'd travel
up to see her there.

Then back at
dawn to my place, here,
by morning I would repair.

On days like this
I'd visit her,
when her lover was
elsewhere.

And into the darkness
I would slip,
until she ceased to care.

WHEN THE AIR WAS STILL

We were together, and she fell.
Her name I could never spell.
When morning came, the trees then shaded
a sunlit spot in forest gladed.
I came upon a table polished.
God is love - but who is nourished?
A single anchor hanging down.
A ritual without a sound.
The rivers of youth and death
are now awake where they once crept.
I tamed a serpent in my hand,
and buried a woman in the sand.
Prester John has come again;
although he never left us then.
Animals now cough at night.
And clarity seems recondite.
The clouds made shadows on her chest
as she prepared for final rest.
I was born to forget my death.
I was born to count my breath.
A paper bag lived in the breeze
while my love died of a new disease.
I mourned her when the air was still,
and lay on her grave in the morning chill.

HELL IS WHERE THE EARTH IS

Hell is where the earth is.
Don’t tell me I am wrong.
I have been waiting here far too long.

I see it across the tables.
I see it on the stairs.
I can even see it in the clouds
and in the morning air.

Hell is where the earth is.
The flesh too weak
to stand it all.

The wind and rain
is winning through as well as karmic
heartache too.

Oh yes hell is where the
grass is green.
And places where human ills
have been.

My nerves are like a cabbage.
I can’t part my lips anymore.
I’m like a hand without a palm.
And an eagle without a claw.

Hell is indeed where my earth is.
And I can’t put it to the stop.
Each hour
is a wrist as it slips
across the blade.

And hell is were my earth is now.
The black mountains and the grave.
The down and up so like
below.
And these invented
human ways.

CYBELIE

Watching from the window.
Watching the sights at night.

My defenceless doors were open.
My wings were closing tight.

Like a dancing bear I bit the stick.
And all around could hear the sick.

My defeated army turned to light.
And a piece of me reached its full height.

I was a climber when I first met you.
That is what made you pursue.

My arms were wide
when you first leapt.

My climbing stopped
and soon you wept.

I hear a harkening band.
I hear it in every room.

I plug my ears.
I plug my eyes.

I mug my fears.
I hide my lies.

The sun is set
and she sleeps in my hands.

I was perfumed by the Fisher King.
He gave me strings to pull a ring.

So why a ring to stop the sin?
Why a ring to let me in?

To be independent.
To be secure.

To live without company
and what is more

to be cherished for what you are.
To be nourished without walking far.

To stand in corners in the night
without having to carry a white light.

To urge some woman to your heart
without having to depart

and cause attention to be made
on all the others who have strayed.

And yet what are these things I see
if they are nothing more than things for me?

OUR LOVE WILL HAVE TO END

Everything has a place in this race

and our love will have to end.

I think we should slow down the pace

and I think we should give up the chase

and to not let this love mend.

Everything has a pace in this race

and we must always try to save face.

And as there is nothing left to tend

I think we should slow down the pace.

I won’t ask you to carry my case

and you should not send notes through your friend.

Everything has a place in this race

and our love has no more favour or grace.

And as it is the end of a trend

I think we should slow down the pace.

You’ve found someone else to hold your lace

and in your arms he will blend.

Everything has a place in this race.

And I think we should slow down the pace.