Download Always Die Before Your Mother: Poems by Patrick Woodcock PDF

By Patrick Woodcock

Deftly relocating from the stifling warmth and politics of the Arabian Peninsula to the darkest corners of South America's rainforest, this number of poetry can provide a searing remark on humanity's many failings. Politics, faith, societal constraints, and familial relationships are all fodder for those pointedly written poems.

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33 A F T E R WAT C H I N G A G Y P S Y G I R L CRYING IN A CEMETERY Years ago, I was told of a secluded village in the mountains. A village of perpetual daylight, where the air was always cold. You can read a man’s thoughts by the way he breathes, they used to say. Or, never look into a woman’s eyes, her mouth shapes the real answers. And it was true. You could understand villagers simply from the shapes that came from their mouths. Children were taught, before they could walk, the importance of all that came from within.

Well, I wanted to offer both of them food again but his brown eyes, Sienna it said, wanted none of me. And then, to make one buckle, threw a wrench into the kindest of gestures, by smiling. 61 JUNGLE SLAUGHTER Sadly, I am convinced that when their bones are no longer of use, flotillas of penitents will venture into the jungle and marvel at their defencelessness. Reluctance and tenderness will pass, transforming into nothing less than blood metaphors for psalmists from Stockholm. Simplicity is at the core of all great jungle slaughters — and human flesh knows, adores and adorns this proudly.

This is how it happens now. My travels have altered the game — I can arc even the purest moments into hell. 60 THE TUMOUR I first saw the tumour resting on Fifth Avenue. Its host, a pleading vessel for two decades of stubbornness, godlessness and cowardice, admittedly relished the attention it drew to the nervous rattle rattle of his tin can. (Wasn’t a second head proof of an ancestry growing still? ) Skin from without touched the sidewalk everywhere — every hair darkened. He could walk — walk upon the two filaments dangling from his torso — but there was no air, only shadows resting upon a thorax, concave and ribless.

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