by Mark Liston
1. Words lost Their new masked fluro-faces moved us on, Our moist palms skinned in each, eyes within dreams of swimming scenes further into night: a cave to lie down, hide by their design in soulful grey, sadness blue, violet-dim desire, green for envy and burning red of passionless unsated flushed sunsets. We are isolated from words d’amore: Worlds apart locked down between the wonder of a new town, bored with collected sighs, our minds are feet, soft on egg shell-troubles, found below the hum and flash of hope lights. We would grin, tres bien eh? De rien et ca va? Merci mon chere, ca va! Until me meet again… 2. Like Synesthetic Words … this fish-bowl night inverts us, paints the sky morphs manic lasers on apartment blocks rolls on rocks, kaleidoscope illusions zeotropic fusions, figures stick-split re-fit acid trip rainbows, lanterns dance I still miss us as twin in slits of colour spinning, circling, tribal animating, with seminal semaphores, soundless narrations words we lost. Remember France? I had hoped we’d find our hearts again, left static Paris traffic, tourist treadmills, their foreign voices in foreign places. Alone, I translate what I see: j’taime toujours ma chere; blanc, rouge et blue.
Mark Liston poems have appeared in numerous anthologies: including Famous Reporter, Newcastle Prize and Roland Robinson, Skive, Australian Poetry Anthology, A Slow Combusting Hymn, Brew, Watermark, Rochford St Review and Canberra Times. He has also won two minor prizes South Coast Writers and Australian Poetry Poem of the Year 2014 and Newcastle Café Poet in Residence. Mark published a chapbook ‘Fragile Diamonds’ by Picaro Press in 2014. He lives in Dubbo still writing.