{"id":332,"date":"2009-09-01T12:41:10","date_gmt":"2009-09-01T17:41:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=332"},"modified":"2009-09-01T12:41:10","modified_gmt":"2009-09-01T17:41:10","slug":"petra-whiteley","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/09\/petra-whiteley\/","title":{"rendered":"Petra Whiteley"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Rooms
\nPetra Whiteley, September 2009<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n


\n<\/strong>This is the room of teeth.<\/em><\/p>\n

Even the dirt is (re)written here,
\nWhite clots gleam sterile
\non the swallowers of walls.<\/p>\n

Needles in the tongue, orange
\npaper lanterns in the graveyard,
\nthe black tree beckons cold.<\/p>\n

Jars with eyes, born dead,
\npushed bitten and hanged
\non barren branches,
\nmelting Jerusalem
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (is it really the calling?)
\nswinging Westerly, bringing
\nblood into the kill-marked seas.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Seconds counting the hated
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 geometry stained corpses of us)<\/p>\n

Oh yeah, it breaks
\nthe enamel as they drill
\nfiction into the water.<\/p>\n

This is the room of the mouth,<\/em><\/p>\n

stitched with a fish, staring empty
\nbeing onto the hall. Flashing illuminations.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 This is the room where you are all alone.<\/em><\/p>\n

You could have never kept these rooms together.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 You are there somewhere, where nothing
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 is real. You are there
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 somewhere
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 burning your hair and pulling
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the masks of fools over your frigid, frozen body.<\/p>\n

Room-decayed, death-played, cover your face
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 in the asylum white.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The Hush
\nPetra Whiteley, September 2009<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n


\n<\/strong>The windows with their frantic landscape
\npressed in,
\nthe thunder wrapped fists
\nhit on the extreme edge..<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the flickers on thin film of skin,
\nthe place of dragging invisibilities.<\/p>\n

Here, where nobody speaks, the fingers
\nof this nothing
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 are hurting, they clutch
\nand twist the pulsing neck of birds,
\nthe mouths of these cancerous entities
\nlick the dark, reeking blood,
\nseeping out.<\/p>\n

The point of arrival, the spread of burns.<\/em><\/p>\n

Who is it that breaks the cold hush of it?<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Red monsoon is what breaks
\nthe blistered language of those who are hidden
\nbehind the rustling masks. The faces in smithereens.<\/p>\n

Pleading, shrill shrieking.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A nude kind of pain.<\/p>\n

Forgotten, festering tinkle, interrupted fragments…
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 step away…<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Petra Whiteley immigrated to UK in 1993 from the Czech Republic. Her poetry has appeared in Osprey, The Glasgow Review, ETC, Seven Circle Press, The Gloom Cupboard, Eviscerator Heaven, Unlikely Stories 2.0, Apt, Fissure, the Recusant and Paraphilia. The Glasgow Review, Osprey and Eviscerator Heaven also published her articles on political and current issues (left-wing position), history and methods of literary movements, with essays on current poets, lyricists and more articles on poetic movements commissioned for future issues. An excerpt from her dystopic novel (work in progress) in Paraphilia. Ettrick Forest Press published her first poetry collection The Nomad’s Trail in September 2008, Shadow Archer Press released her chapbook The Moulding of Seers in April 2009. She is currently writing children’s book.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Rooms Petra Whiteley, September 2009 This is the room of teeth. Even the dirt is (re)written here, White clots gleam sterile on the swallowers of walls. Needles in the tongue, orange paper lanterns in the graveyard, the black tree beckons cold. Jars with eyes, born dead, pushed bitten and hanged on barren branches, melting […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-332","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-september-2009"],"yoast_head":"\nPetra Whiteley - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/09\/petra-whiteley\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Petra Whiteley - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The Rooms Petra Whiteley, September 2009 This is the room of teeth. 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