Tuesday, July 09, 2013

TUESDAY POEM | Down Dulcie's Street by CB

(Down Dulcie's Street was published some years ago in a collection titled The Song of the Belly Button Man. Today's poem on the TP hub - The night I pierced my own belly button  - prompted me to post it again here. All hail to the belly button - and I do find myself wondering how many other belly button poems there might be out there?*)

                                                      DOWN DULCIE'S STREET

                                        Dulcie draws a toaster house. 

                                        Outside, a web of copper wire 
                                        weaves windows into walls, ties bricks 
                                        to fascias, laces gutters to roof 
                                        to chimney to fly-away
                                        chimney smoke. 

                                        She sends a charge 
                                        across the facade
                                        singes the white sky 
                                        blue, flashes red 
                                        onto the front doormat. 

Inside, there are no lines 
in sight. Breath settles 
into shadows, thought hovers
underfoot. There are shivers
of sound, the invisible murmur 
of magnetic fields waking. 
They shift and fold the paper 
                                                     envelope of home. 
                                        Dulcie walks us down her street. 

                                        Beneath the double light of moon 
                                        and sun, she draws electricity, trees
                                        and bees. Her felt-tips ripen
                                        fruit, coax flowers to open. She understands 
                                        the secrets of dragonflies, seeds germinating 
                                        in silent underground places. 

                                        You can tell 
                                        she knows ink 
                                        dreams in water. 


Dulcie Kirk was in her late seventies when she drew this house and well into her eighties at the time of her passing (March 2010). I did not know her well but on the few occasions we met, was touched by her refreshing transparency and lack of compromise when it came to her art-making. She was remarkably prolific. 

This week's editor on the TP hub is Saradha Koirala
with The night I pierced my own belly button
by Maria McMillan (from her collection The Rope Walk, described by the poet as "intergenerational persona poetry sequences that feature aerial performers, 19th century ropemakers and gloomy mountain cribs.")

For this week's poetry smorgasbord, please click on the quill.


  1. This is powerful and beautiful, both the poem and drawings!

  2. Claire, have just found this! I love the energy of creation in this poem that you have caught so vividly. It buzzes with it. Is the energy of all art and creation, really. I love this bit especially.... XX

    Dulcie walks us down her street.

    Beneath the double light of moon
    and sun, she draws electricity, trees
    and bees. Her felt-tips ripen
    fruit, coax flowers to open. She understands
    the secrets of dragonflies, seeds germinating
    in silent underground places.