Monday, 22 July 2013

A poem by Anna-May Laugher

Foyer 1973
After Patrick Caulfied

As I was saying, in the dream...

I yawn. 
The foyer pulses with his voice.

Are you listening?

I am about to sigh, to be polite –
the scarlet ceiling gives me strength.

A muscular rudeness puckers my lips.

I grab the rail to take a step,
only to find there are no stairs.

No reverberates
tangles in the rills of Muzak.

He’s shocked,
tells me I’m unkind.

I take his hand, so pudgy and damp;
it ticks with slow and idle life,

I press it flat against the wall’s cold taupe
and speak.

This painted plaster is your mind,
unmarked and unremarkable.

You’re like this building after closing.
Look up for pity’s sake,
be hit by scarlet,

look down at black,
imagine it is tar and wet,
heaving and rolling to swallow you whole.

Imagine it’s the road to hell
and through that doorway on the left
there’s a handcart with your name on it.

Anna-May Laugher  has been writing poetry for fifteen years. She has just completed a two year ekphrastic project writing poems on one of Paula Rego’s paintings: Crivelli’s Garden. A prize winning poet, her poems have been widely anthologized. Anthologies: Creative Arts Anthology, Reading University,, Ver, Ware, Chichester- All that Jazz. Magazines: Domestic Cherry, Carillon, The Journal, South Bank Poetry, Roundy House. Online: Ink, Sweat and Tears,


  1. Phew, Beam me up Scotty! This leaves me really wanting to know what's through that doorway on the left. Nicely described throughout.

  2. Thanks Andy! Glad you enjoyed the poem! Send us one...

  3. People love to talk about their dreams! But they're always so dull however fantastic.
    Wake up!

    Enjoyed this.