I live at the edge
of the universe.
Like everybody else.
Concrete poetry found on Wellington Writers’ Walk. Quite a challenge to find, it’s on the corner where the Taranaki Street wharf starts, near the floating crane, just below the edge of the wharf, by the reproduction of the on-off ferry loading ramp. The concrete poetry collection blogged here has been picked up by a fan of concrete and visual poetry (click for vispo blog).
I find the word spacings quite unusual. No bad, unusual. The first line feels like someone is shouting from the hill tops. The second line feels a little more subdued. Perhaps like the echo back. But not a mutter. Just quieter. Shyer. Like a typical kiwi bloke bellowing at the dogs and then getting all dew eyed at those inconvenient moments. Yeah, right. It’s poetry. Don’t be getting soppy about it.