December Posts
3/12/20
“Obsession is the other thing, the fear. There’s no science without it,
what would we do with our homes, our vaccines – driven from the labs
like kings, rub like myrrh on us, for ever. A baptism, rearing in the
vows, abstracted thinking – of the forms, beliefs – in series, becoming
+ our death. Needs for a dowry – in stone cathedrals, castles –
marriage on the stalls – a restitution. Please for me”
10/12/20
“In Yarmouth yesterday, doing my thing. Ah the silence of the world, of
forgiveness. Again, thought of patient x – at the end of his family, he
did. And there – too was y. Who came out to protect them? two, in the
removed, consciousness of hell, marked alert as nothing graphs, yes. I
think they will be friends. In time, the characters, deer now Is Help No
help. I was the help. Stuck at the gate, The light”
17/12/20
“King St. pops the foraging god, of different cuz, of foreign worlds.
Dense worms of sparrow flied and What? if we as humans were not
anything – really, but the dense cast of the sea, our narratives after an
American, hair. A sense, exquisite – grown, that they have this face, a
deal-ideal, that is full-on after sleep. King St – you have the markings
of an intense tithe, of a witch – that is a cup – in space”
24/12/20
“Cast of a bird, carries of the ex, model that is now a piece of the bird
as it is, imagine – as a battery, a book of whams fused in heaven’s heat
so the feathers, hair can now thirst – like a goose froze at the wheel –
twixt speed + trap, in time. ‘You mad, bird’ No. But cast of an
incommunicable void, beauty, is something the animal of the year can
never bare. Carshot, calendar, the laundry crew – earth”
31/12/20
“The thought, the new iteration of the nuthatch call, is frightening to
me. Stubbed bird of catastrophe in the new Europe – on a
monumental wheel, little chest to the dawn and does not stop its
song. Desire, that’s what the threat comes down to – desire, a longing
for life – you and them, hymn, the various strong call/calling of a
variant bird. Tsi-si alarm, Sirrr – co-tangles the day, thief deep in the car”
Doug Jones initially studied English at Warwick, then completed an MPhil on the poet Bill Griffiths. While doing his MPhil he fell in with Bob Cobbing’s Writers Forum group – which was a huge influence. After college, he worked as a nurse in east London and then retrained as a doctor. He has published three poetry books with Veer and one with Salo. Work has also appeared in Datableed, VLAK, Chicago Review – as well as a few other places. He is currently working as a GP in Yarmouth.
