Author: Davey Dreamnation
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Coaxing the heart to heal itself
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2 min read
just not possible. it’s not possible that the heart could heal itself (within days the way a novel does, metaphorically, or the way a tree heals the wind as it sways not likely. not in my lifetime, or yours will we live to see the human heart sing the way a pop star does having…
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(On the tomb of) Ephrem Tamiru
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2 min read
no he’s not dead yet (as if he ever could pass on or away from this winged world Ephrem Tamiru! tell us what you think re Anchin Kalmeselesh or else just th sax (sax slow and shark-like snarls through an Asmara bar to hit Thomas Keneally cold in the nose like a sweet tea might…
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From the Archives: Desmond
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1 min read
I think I must have written this poem some time in the early 1990s. I have absolutely no idea what it’s about but I really like the concluding couplet, for some reason (and in fact I think I’ve even re-used it in other poems over the years as well).
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starsigns
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1 min read
star swinging so slowly spookily seven signs say someone’s sleepy saying so so softly somnambulent shredding sorrow saxily swaying snakes simmering so snowily sad so smitten saying sutures shiny someone’s sax subtracts sneezes singly singing sinew shutterbug starsigns signs so slender star so saccharine so slow so stunned say something shattering slowly sing something sad…
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Solna, Stockholm
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1 min read
Gosh, that’s interesting.
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a little bird tells me
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1 min read
start: doo-wop is the new ter-weetie: sheet iron rules the world of river commerce, still maniacs wander the streets of wood mill towns aimlessly, listening to portable transistors, waiting till their batteries run down to nothing. sometimes, i wonder what it’s like in pittsburgh, or anywhere, really, sited on the confluence of more than two…
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Silverpilen
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1 min read
Bara de döda stiger av i Kymlinge … Only yesterday I thought it was a great idea; The trees were still covered in cutesy icicles, Dead birds lined the footpaths & I wanted to Get on at a mystery station – or at least leap Off into some great unknown, wings attached. At the T…
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Last Night Betty (Extender)
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1 min read
‘Last Night Betty’, the poem, was anthologised in Short Fuse: The Global Anthology of Fusion Poetry (Rattapallax Press: New York City, 2002).
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My Cordite Top Eleven!
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8 min read
In this post, I look back on my years as Managing Editor of Cordite Poetry Review, and pick my top eleven choicest moments from what has been a thrilling, exhausting and ultimately life-affirming rollercoaster ride of love and passion.
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Voor mijn valentijn
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2 min read
ik breng dit voor mijn gappies maar mijn valentijn is wel de liefste liefie, liefie … waar ben je nu ik ben hier maar jij niet (waarom zeg je daarom iedere keer? hoe kan dat … nou, weet ik veel (ik weet veel van mijn gappies maar darryl ja klopt hij weet alles tenminste alles…
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another kind of sun ra
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1 min read
drop drop the hangul! gimme gimme gimme gimme sun raaaaaa – no, the other kind! yessir eeyo davey drop the davey drop the dream, nation! yeeeaah drop it yoda drop it you must yoda! any other kind of sun ra i’m against it against all stooges day dream nations glo-wavers thomas covenant i’m against it…
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Self-portraits with stippen
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0 min read
Photobooth: the gift that just keeps on giving. Look and learn, SOFO fashionistas.
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Cordite–Prairie Schooner collaboration now online
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4 min read
I’m very pleased to say that Work: A Cordite–Prairie Schooner Fusion is now online, and available for your cerebral delectation. But what is Prairie Schooner? And what do I mean by ‘co-feature’? And what the heck is ‘cerebral delectation’ anyway? Prairie Schooner is a Nebraska-based literary journal currently edited by Kwame Dawes. The Cordite-Prairie Schooner…
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Back in 2004 – God, how old does that make me! – I participated in a slam as part of the Melbourne Writers Festival that involved teams of four doing group pieces and random solo poems as well.
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A New Career In A New Town
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2 min read
Call me Kid A, capitalising on my foreign-power language, breezily erasing any thoughts of running aside to land here, finally, in this new town. Way below zero I go, plunging into a new career just as the Metro escalators do, with no thought or choice, only a strange drive to run, and run again, north.…