PAPERBACK BOOKS
 POEMS FROM PARADISE

POEMS FROM PARADISE

I feel not enough importance and publicity is given to modernist/postmodernist poetry in Australia today.

Chosen, and displayed for the understanding of the general public, it should be given some space on television, and more space in newspapers and magazines.

This would help create a deeper interest and enjoyment of this valuable art form.

…….Caroline

In Store Price: $AU18.95 
Online Price:   $AU17.95

ISBN: 1-9208-8402-5
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 128
Genre: Poetry
 

Author: Caroline Glen
Imprint: Zeus
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: November 2003
Language: English

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About the poet

Caroline Glen has been a resident on the Gold Coast for a number of years. For six years she was coordinator of Gold Coast Writers Assn. Inc. Poetry Group.

She has been successful in many competitions and enjoys giving performance readings of her poetry. Her other published poetry books are Along the Way, On Seagulls' Wings, Caviar for Breakfast.

Read a sample:

ADDICTION

  

He never wanted to enter the world. He wanted

to rest safe in the womb’s quiet, its safe place.

When they said he and mother had one day left,

they sliced her. Pulled him out and up and

smacked him into a first cry. They disturbed his

dreaming. He never knew a first push from dark to

light. His own work for survival.

 

They drained his smooth, round body and put him

at mother’s breast. He clung there. Stayed there six

months. Sucked and cried. Cried as though he

knew what pain was out there waiting. His room

wept. His parents shook. When he stopped crying

he played.

 

Another sudden rip. From mother to another. Too

cold, too certain. He missed mother. And family

sharing was strange, and too hard. Later, when he

ran his fingers down the flowing skirts of freedom,

he looked for the softest folds. The folds where he

could keep playing. Keep dreaming. He wrapped into

them, and travelled away, cocooned from family who

would ask questions. With a bitterness biting, and a

dummy on his tongue, each breath became an addict’s

breath. Each step a backward step. A protracted rush

back to the womb. To its quiet. Its safe place. But he

never found it.                      

 


 

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