© 2019 Tapestry, Annual TAMUK Women & Gender Studies Journal

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David R. Morgan

Wish (for mum) 

Poetry & music recited by Author and Pianist

Edward Ashby Smith

Poetry & music recited by Author and Pianist

 

That Difficult Final Track

Poetry & music recited by Author and Pianist

 

Throwing the Voice

The ventriloquist does not move

grieving for all he has lost: mother, father, wife, child;

vanished in this age of technological miracles,

acquiescing to the insatiable will of a rationalised god.

 

Still the community of the dead survives

suffused within us all,

to be hugged in our minds counting such cost,

grief and gratitude.

What’s lost is always found;

what is found will be lost forever.

The ventriloquist does not move.

 

Everyone everywhere has an appointment to keep

with the dead, our conscience and our history-

can we ever say goodbye, begin to forget?

And yet, why cemeteries when we have digital replay?

 

We breathe the same air

as all those who have gone before,

waltzing silhouettes splashed on smiling walls,

coughing up ghosts. The ventriloquist does not move;

the dummy drops its jaw.

The countless cherubs of departed children stand

behind the sun and cast a shadow, dreaming meaning,

as the angels of deceased adults swamp the night, eclipsing the moon.

The more we wake, the more we disappear.

Human masks hang from Wi-Fi masts;

souls soon sucked forth, rippling from infinity,

to complete Life’s sentences.

The ventriloquist does not move;

the dummy drops its jaw, rolls its eyes.

 

In the cloud, sourced code, forever ever after re-born -

a virtual, curated Dead Space exists where the lifeless

can never get rid of the living. Configured, crowding in,

their future immortality will be ceaseless HD virtuality.

 

The ventriloquist does not move;

the dummy drops its jaw, rolls its eyes

and bangs the seat with its heals,

waiting for the download to complete.