Anthony Dawson Poems

The quarry
A dangerous place
Scab on the earth
An operation of take
...

At least tomorrow I can sleep,

ignore the rapid fury of open eyes rasping my presence.
...

Every morning a woman comes and hand picks her rubbish -

Gems discarded by the elite of the city.
...

Cream laden valleys
Antarctic canyons and elevations
Whitest milk from the greenest fields;
Impossible neutrality
...

A woman stands illuminated by a single light,

shivers in a capsule as the cold night bites her ankles,
...

Again I enter where I have never been
Through the passage and into the world I create
What I create will again conceive a different tomorrow
A want of the better, and more of the unknown
...

Into the night the revellers dig
Not for gems or liquid power, comfort in another mouth;
...

A man I met
who likes the odd drink
Told me to believe only half of what I see and
nothing of what I read
...

Creating a horse with the floating clouds.
Upward vision into the path of super-jets.
...

Wine;

my stained teeth,
...