By Richard Carl Mather So the roots of plants, trees, arteries, sewers, nervous systems, run down to the shore of the river, which...

By Richard Mather Alien eyes fix on the bricks and bottles, on crisp packets, used condoms, dirty knickers, chewed chicken bones and cold...

Beneath a red lightbulb innumerable doves swim as if in a cold, gold sun.   Birth, creation, a ruinous origination. Decomposition settles...

"Inside the hospital walls is where the old man waits, sits ..."

By Richard Mather A disease of blood and spirit in a Petri dish, of skin and brain and bone, scrutinized and magnified under glass. I am...

Apeiron beginning; ur-reality: eternal, infinite, boundless, indefinite; yielding every thing through the actions of opposites:...

Environed by varying degrees of space,   (depending on where you draw the line),   a poem is a picture of the artist's mind on a...

There is in me a Body of Sin: Sin its own heart and lungs, brain-blood-bones- teeth-tongue; a crown of vice adorns the head; channels and...

A twisted tree from sapling green to creek-brown god, nature's will has bent its back, perversed its proper shape: Roots that will not...

"red is the colour of the bone snapped back"

A Beginning I will proclaim the name of  Elah Yisrael : It is Yahuweh Tzavaot the impassioned one who speaks the yod & the heh , who...

A minute before midnight, the owl of Minerva watches today grow fat behind time’s horizon. At twelve he blinks. One eye for the night of...

Circling We move in circles around each other, encircled and encompassing, each turn driven in part by our own will to move and be moved,...

What are these things before me That come into shape? Do not ask And I will not have to answer. Weird creatures that run amok Inside...

Under the World A frog descended eighty-six radical steps to the devil’s loch. There the heron brooded at the water’s edge and the...

Fog swirls, curls around vans, cars, slips ghostlike through bare branches.

By Richard Mather Potato eaters – five peasant women, clothed in rags, seated round a square table in a brown room. The scene is set....

the air is raspberry sweet it swarms with wings

By Richard Mather Blood, tears, a vial of sea salt, dice, cards, a postcard from Venice. Magic is time and space. Magic is the space...

Languages are outposts on the outskirts of being. By voice and by text we perform raids on being, but we find it impossible ...