Poetry from Mark Young


It is when words fall
that they lose their im-

pact. Must remain in 
the air for more than

a second or two, cling-
ing to clothing or twist-

ing upwards in the way 
that cigarette smoke does.


I like using articles to end a 
line. Sometimes an article
of faith, sometimes of clothing. &

occasionally a particle of speech
to give the space between lines
that extra bit of frisson. It is a 

continuity, the way forward, not 
the end of the line that some
flat-earthers seem to think it is. 

The Clearing

Not how I re-
remembered or
would have left 
it. Too much

foliage, as if no
one has been here 
to tidy up since I
last came by. 

Tradition always 
suffers when the 
oracles move into 
the marketplaces.

A kind of census

The mind’s mosaic has 
been taken in for intro-
spection. Why learn for 
the sake of learning? Un-
necessary facts might just 
as well be fiction for all 
the use we get from them. 

The fragments are taken 
out for sensual inspection. 
Left so the air can breathe 
on them. Those that acquire 
color are kept to form new 
pathways of the mind. The
bland are used to pebble 
pathways in the garden. 


Another Sunflower Sutra

In sunflower I find 
pistil & stamen, their 

output arranged in 
a Fibonacci spiral.

& following on

As the sun sets, the 
credits start to roll. 

This day was brought 
to you by the seven

ayem garbage col-
lectors, a poem that 

glistened just beyond 
the edges of the trawl-

ing net, Sketches of Spain 
with Miles Davis & Gil 

Evans, four coldcall 
intrusions, all declined, 

The Last Samurai on 
cable, washing off the 

line. No special effects 
were provided by either 

Industrial Light & Ma-
gic or Marvel Studios.

2 thoughts on “Poetry from Mark Young

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *