Chris Edwards

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Chris Edwards Poems

Despite the vast data at hand
pertaining to his belief
in the charm and ease of exposure,
not much is known about Cary

Having been struck and left outside
the violence of serious cartoons,
life is a sad animal
hunting. We know it’s mostly shopping,

In the beginning he’d herd people
clocking up the hours in apartments
above and below him but they heard sink
and shower sounds and turned on washing

Behold, I bring you a straw to hang onto,
for it is cocktail hour and you are clearly drowning,
untroubled by many things. Perhaps
dishing out cigars etc.

Whenever I discover what an idiot I’ve been,
I turn to television — “Oh screen of wonders, flick me
on and off like an appliance,” I implore it

“Arrest me aura who is it
who goads there? Who sends
shadows up m’ deep end?
Tweety? Pooh pooh

Behind the bridge of the human nose
one often strikes the eerie pose
of Ferdinand Flocon, nineteenth century pen-
pusher, who rendered the entire civil code of his country

Like the twang of an old complaint, the pong
of decomposing swan songs hit him
as a jangle rose
from the dee-jay equipment

To all you people running loose
on this planet: though each must date
their own signature in this world, I hereby
indicate agreement and understand

“Correct! The photo is important! I say, Listen, they have nothing
When I get an idea. Then sit down and I make
Peanuts – meaning that every time I open my mouth,

Whisky poet! After eating a cold supper,
the crowd Pat used to associate with
when she was still at high school
no longer want to hear you read your poems — it’s after

Perhaps I need a normaliser.
Would you like one? Now?
The moods induced
by a drunken sun

Codswallop as we know it was first invented by simple people
with time on their hands to pass it around in: they could see it

Five months after being mauled by
his illusionist, Bernard J. Ebber reported
the scheme he’d devised. “I can gaze
out my window and see 10


’Tis in vain to counterfeit
stolen goods, just as Addition
with another. Pulse, the innocent
The Experiment

I’m a big noise in the wheel world, truly,
and go around making choices an issue
so people can while away time considering
how much there is of it: what they no longer

Albeit my god-given property rights
extend no further than the offices of Lord Fogg,
dispenser of paralysis gas – who owns
everything I have to say

Chris Edwards Biography

Chris Edwards is the Sydney-based author of utensils in a landscape (Vagabond Press, 2001) and A Fluke: A mistranslation of Stéphane Mallarmé's "Un coup de dés S¼" (Monogene, 2005). He has published poetry in a variety of Australian journals and online at Jacket Magazine and Poetry International. He edited Robert Adamson's Mulberry Leaves: Selected Poems 1970-2001 and Inside Out: An Autobiography and is an associate editor of Boxkite.)

The Best Poem Of Chris Edwards

The Awful Truth

Despite the vast data at hand
pertaining to his belief
in the charm and ease of exposure,
not much is known about Cary
beyond the simple decency
and consular good manners
his roles only occasionally
allowed him to exhibit.
The outbreak of war
had offered him boy scouts
on the docks, followed by a few
last letters to post, about which he was
curious but remained none the wiser.
Still, a pattern began to emerge
as if from the wallpaper
of his bedroom — a patter
too, like roaches. Formidable
omens? Probably not. Probably
just roaches.

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