Cinema-Cafe Talk
seated in the front-stalls
too close to the screen
they lean across the table
out of focus
try to lipread
in the flickering white and blackness
and all the cinematic reel will show
is that everything was scripted
even the time to go
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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La Japonaise Paris
Restaurant Musee D'Orsay
silver spoon of creme de choufleur soupe
poised
beneath the chandeliers
even a spear of white asparagus
might pierce
the fluttering wood-moth
as with upturned face
it disappears
once more
somehow in woodfern lace
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Redemption
behind the refrigerator door
they don't have much to say
huddle don't resist
as fumbling fingers grip
whisk one of them away
oh when will the messiah come
in the form of eggs or ham or cheese
or possibly some leftover
they murmur with unease
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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The Sock
in Spring
curled-up
in the gutter of no-one's love
how could it have come to this
but by satellite
it's shape
transmitted faraway
almost beyond our understanding
was perfection of a kind
somehow predesigned
the other day
was spirited away
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Mass pour les plastiques-Paris
wide eyed
Buzz Lightyear
and the little yellow fish
edged closer in the pew
he knew
what it was to be alive
through his half-open visor
head askew
batteries running down
he contrived possibly a prayer
Huston we have a problem
is anybody there
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Catwalk
she's perfected the placement of each paw
out from the alleyways of backyard walls
balances on chalk-marks
where the strobe-light falls
pussycats her shoulders
at the back-cloth of applause
wide-eyed and breathless
at the sheathing of her claws
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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A Child's-View Paris
at the children's boating-lake Luxembourg Gardens
to her father
I stood at the rails
then you pushed me away
and the breeze filled the sail
that first day of May
and when I returned
I saw in your face
uncertainty there
in that small crowded place
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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The Unremembered
somewhere in the white noise
at the blurred edges of sight
the unremembered
they almost
might have made a difference
to it all
swung it
filled a space
now
should we
as the others slope away
with the last coin for the juke-box
make another play
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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the Octopus
a tentacle of fear
reaches out
and senses
where the sun never rises or sets
in the dark in the gap
of the glass-mirrored doors
it's the silence
that blurrs the reflection of transience
only the shallow-breathing
of clothes hanging in space
can face it
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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At the Garden-Centre
the snake whiles-away his summer afternoons
tempting girls with apples at his stall
he'll take them home by sports-car
if they fall
and wistful
through the window
they're there on quiet days
just the lees of cold-black coffee
and the clattering of trays
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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