Strolling and Controlling
Six poems on perambulatory loneliness, fury, and forgotten Nymphomaniacs by Lizzie Homersham
Lizzie Homersham is a London-based writer and editor whose poems come for you like little daggers buried in candy-floss. We’re delighted to have published her in the Lugubriations book (launching next week September 30th, do join) and to be able to publish some of her poems here on the Substack. Photos are by George Jepson. - RA
1
Strolling and controlling
‘Running’
Stuffing tissue deeper
‘Falling’
Down a hole
as opposed to a staircase
‘Sewing’
a web of steel
To be brushed with,
brushed against
Against a brush
2
There are no more comparisons
I wrote a list of place names around spokes of the sun
Rays and razing, daisy-chaining degradation
Let’s go to all of these I said and ride the circle line repeatedly
Escape from family
I heard of a man who changed his name to Quiet Carriage,
and saw on the screen a man I’m out of touch with
in Nymphomaniac
Addiction I can well imagine
Wishing unwell
There is no balance though, just different shifts on the imbalance axis
In a toilet on an airplane and singing
You can say what you want
But it won’t change my mind
In case my mind is changing
I still want the ditches to talk to you about trains
3
All this white stuff billowing,
out the back of a
Puffa jacket
They cut it open
Jimi Hendrix
unleashing parakeets
from a window
according to Chris Packham
Helicopter landing
best enjoyed in retrospect
the path of least resistance
4
is this what it feels like
to write poetry
stealing words
out of a friend’s mouth
sitting opposite
stopping the hand
from reaching
for a receipt
to jot down
the billowing
If
If I fear I make connections
Thoughts start moving fast
I need to slow down,
Why put us together
we could be left apart
The toes of a pair of shoes
Facing in toward each other, or outward,
how to choose
What difference does it make besides the question
Of form
The position of feet, heels touching
Or the heel of one foot, in the middle
Of the other
By the arch
So if I move directly from first to second
With a gear shift, abruptly pulling
I miss the second, middle step
And fall
She walked
She walked to get away from herself
Her mother thought of one way to assist after she died
She would
Fill out a form for her heart’s release to a spreadsheet hung out to dry
Sell the cells on a sheet
Sewn up
Names encrusted as salt towelled off damp skin
Counterweight of sleepers laying track
Sinking killing industry
Stroked a puppy to death like Lenny
Incised the neck of a frog turned into a dog
Stood at the chopping board
Still green
This careful nightmare
Your message to me
Pizza rats
Pregnant with shock
The phrase she’d devised to describe expectation
The gravity blanket she would stuff down her throat
Be held
Razor men who have faces
At arms
Length of screaming
If ever she needed a stage name she’d call herself Gravity Blankets
Speak like a wheel
Burning holes
The scene saw quantity of publicity as bad news is
No news is
At 20:45
An itch about a back issue
Out to get away
At the intersection of loving
Flying or swimming
Light
Heart stopped as with duck meat
Bonding over dinner
Coffee with a non-vegan five-pound note
Short of a six quid lobster
Bussing past
Plastic wrap stuck to a free gift
Soap carrying race war in its beak
Deep filled
The basis of peace
Forgetting
Good for carving
All this gratitude
Why do you say thanks?
Or sorry as blockade
Sisters’ birthdays
Dogs the next day
Non-speaking parts
Forgiven the unlikely chance of meeting payments
Too easy to cite
Ancestral
Ducking chairs
Fantastic and frightening!