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Poems on the Megaphone by Jane Frankish

Please visit Jane and the Library Monkeys


09FridayJun 2017

You are the first nations, the first people.

As I was coming in you were going out

you held the door for me and said, ‘good timing.’

I asserted, ‘Yes, indeed, good timing thank you.’

Ascending the stair, I felt my settler state.

My emphases extending everywhere

your body, your speech, your land.

Family Ties

02SundayJul 2017


The murderer and the murdered

I feel like Agamemnon as he sacrificed Iphigenia.

I am Iphigenia as she died at her father’s hand

a rag stuffed in her mouth.

I am a myth

open my mouth.

I left, leaving the mother who will

kill from revenge.


10MondayJul 2017

There I see you, you are looking at the garden.

I see your hand on the phone
delicately reflecting in the pale light like a ghost.

You arrived after me, yet went before me
traveling to the garden, you find space.

You put flowers in your hair and wander.

You smell the lilac, sweet peas and lilies of the valley.
Your name is Tara, you are the Goddess of compassion
my name is Jane, I am the grace of God.


12MondayJun 2017

So, there is an end to suffering

simply 9/6/2017 at 3.00am.

Free fall grasping at before

cessation, began.

I did whack him one before I left.


04SundayJun 2017

There was a man

outside Tim Horton’s  –  fast asleep.

His whole world tucked in around him

Himself splayed out, blissfully, on the street.

The thought of sleep how I sleep, how you sleep

how we all sleep.

With our world in disarray around us, from concrete to mega thread counts
our mouths hanging open as we retreat.

Memory Foam

28TuesdayMar 2017

I visited the bed shop

the customer service lady showed us a memory foam bed.

As I lay down, the foam took me

the most gentle grasp shaped to my prone body.

I lay as if in a body bowl.

When I arose the memory of me disappeared

and I thought of the dead

Those that died in hospital on plastic covered beds.

We washed their soft skin, lifting limbs

wiping gently, erasing signs of life.

We dressed them in shrouds

and sent them away.

The old foam beds retaining memories

storing the body story.

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