Arthur Broomfield – Three poems

247458_234420203240662_7998143_nDr Arthur Broomfield is a poet and Beckett scholar. He is editor of the on-line poetry journal Outburst. Arthur’s chapbook The Poetry Reading at Semple Stadium (Lapwing) was published in 2011. His poems have been published in most Irish journals and in Orbis and Envoi in the U.K. He has been shortlisted for the Hennessey Award. He is in the process of finishing a work of literary criticism on the works of Samuel Beckett (Cambridge Scholars Press), due out later this year.

Snowdrop

For A.B..

And then,
after the last descent into alcohol
I’ll go to your door,
I’ll shuffle down the step  stones, your design,
through the beds where in summer
Arum Lilies and Gladioli disguise
the dun earth
and for the bleak days leave
on your doorstep
Snowdrops, gathered that morning,
and moist with dew.

On doubting the existence of things

When it is clear
when the mind retreats
to the yoga bare,
the glow from the comfort light dimmed,
I and the mind
I to eye
in a word free,
is questions is,
eye I.

Asked
there is no question
that I can see.
The bereaved
be leave
scarred by inescapable guilt.

The Pornographers

They’ll be there for you
when you’re innocent enough
or stupid enough
to think  the sex industry
is art;
caught in the buzz of the form
blind to the content.
Another starlet groomed
for a walk-on part
in the next porn show.

Miscast
on the casting couch
you’ll know your place
when they throw
a blanket rejection over
your work,
the pimp’s blank response.

Unjust you think numb-
ered,
your call is uncalled for,
when they’ve missed your beat
or don’t turn up
you’ll know something is up.

 
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