Three poems by Martin Stannard



Be my pivoted support that allows the rotation of an object about a single axis.

In engineering, that world neither of us understand, a set of three, they are called gimbals incidentally, one mounted on the other with orthogonal pivot axes, may be used to allow an object mounted on the innermost of the three to remain independent of the rotation of its support (e.g. vertical in the first animation).

And so it goes on, incomprehensibly.




So much is washing around me.
I find that trumpets often sound triumphant
but oboes rarely sound obese. I think
nobody is going to argue with me.

When alchemy regains its popularity
as it’s bound and destined to do
we’ll be one of the first couples to frolic
among the nuts and animal skins of ritual
with all the force of forehead of frog
and stone of plum, because modern life
with all its innovations and irritations
is just too modern.




Between moments of sobriety your latest beau encapsulates all it means to be a sot. Trust him as far as you can hurl one of your uncle’s steers.

I, on the other hand, belong with the pure of heart and The Sincerity Sons of Turin.




© Martin Stannard, 2016

Martin Stannard’s poetry and criticism have been widely published since the late 1970s. His most recent collection is Poems For The Young At Heart (Leafe Press, 2016).

Poems For The Young At Heart:

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