Karen Downs-Barton
Karen Downs-Barton is a neurodiverse poet studying MA Creative Writing at Bath Spa University. She lives close to Stonehenge in a quarryman's cottage held together with mud and hair mortar. Her non-poetic occupations include magician’s assistant and dance teacher (Middle Eastern and tango). Karen work has appeared in Alyss, The Goose, Word Gathering, The Curly Mind, Failed Haiku, Three Drops From A Cauldron, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Poetry WTF, Thank You For Swallowing, The Fem Lit’, Smuese and Otoliths amongst others.
https://thepapercutpoet.wordpress.com
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A Line from the Impromptu
                              In response to Reuben Woolley
If I could explain your poetry I’d say it
reminds me of Francis Alÿs, his journeys – sometimes
pushing a block of ice, sometimes leaving a Green Line -
your mind / his line are unspooled in liquid threads, splashes
and pools or thin streamed, unlocked between
borders, crossing oceans and continents, creating
novel peripheries, lyrically. It
reminds me of photography: photos of Alÿs walking, always
away, walking through wildernesses, past
sentry box coffins of bemused men – always men – in
uniform, guarding continents and blind alleys. Challenging. Your
green lines are verdant, Pollock-ally-potent, drawing on
a lineage that includes Siqueiros, Miro, your words
are pareidolia asserting themselves over the page,
confronting bordered con-
vention: a lexicon, thoughts, sometimes hung,
cliff-edged with space or offering breath paused or
clotted – each reader their own interpreter of your
invitation to hesitate, think, walk on, or freefall
from your brink.
The Seoul Train
                                             After the Hydrochromatic painters,
                                             Monsoon Project, Seoul
               My apartment window
               the caged cricket chirps.
               The blindness of cities.
Outside, arms wide as chollima wings, a crazy American
paints paths with water glazes from rainbow-labelled
buckets, spangling glassy contents across his canvas,
liquids evaporating into summers heaviness. At the doorway
I offer him strengthening Century Eggs: he paints oval emptinesses
at my feet. People pass: girls chirruping English greetings in cricket
voices while old folk rumble in slow Korean, clouding
his foreign ears. I’m old enough to talk with strangers and crickets,
happy with eccentricity and companionship. Ask what he’s doing
he mimes zipping lips. I cannot guess his secrets hidden
in the tiffanies of paint.
He says: Don’t tread on the fishes;
he says: Don’t wade too deep;
he says: Don’t feed the sea dragon,
like a child
protecting imaginary friends;
sharing imaginary worlds;
scaring his grandmother.
Softly, crumbs fall from the crickets’ cage.
               Leaden morning.
               The cricket sleeps.
               Solitude is a weighted burden.
Monsoon timpani. Magic paints fill paths with rainbow
carp swimming in cartoon waves. A train
of children dance umbrella quavers, calling to me; gifting company.
               Beside my foot,
               a sea dragon hatches
               from an enchanted egg.
Crone Lore
of tales / lore I shall
impart to you sister /
daughter you who
are belly full with
small kicks inside
- the changes tasting
of seaweed soup in
swilling viridescent
marine greens / fract-
ured blues coating
the ‘O’ of your mouth
do not to squat
pissing in wild
places gazing
moonward your un-
made child will r i s e
like the lunar calendar
slip your filigreed
fingers swim sky-
ward as silvered stars
Mukbang
We move from communal to cubicle eat
as high rise singletons nested in pristine
offices student dorms bite-sized apartments stacked
separated but linked by modernity / technology
we substitute face-to-face encounters
with screenings of our mukbang family meals with
K-pop girls in pastels or neon bright playing
coquettishly noodling in bowls pulling knitted
vermicelli - interlaced and matted - glassily alluring
the wetted clicks, slurps from interwoven slicks
swirled round chopsticks like emaciated
legs / wooden foodies coupling we watch their lips poutingly
pliant. They will eat for you sucking seductively
marine drizzles slipping lips kitten pink tongues
protruding licking them back. You need never eat
alone. The online universe opens
feeding ever diverse tastes androgynous boy-men faux
feminine / wannabe chefs / the gargantuan Sumo styled man eating to
order boulder big eyes flickering across companion screens,
update responsive. They are waiting for You skin
lusciously folding beneath their chins breasts en-
larging or the stick thin girls toying with endless
dishes open wide brimming
thrilling as they break taboos emotions stirring watched
filling computer screens / bowls / bellies / bank balances Star Balloons
decorating internet horizons gastronomic voyeurism where you need
never eat alone or eat at all pledging allegiances to live eaters
in money bubbles anonymous as popup conversations.Mukbang is a Korean phenomenon of videoing the experience of eating while people pay to view.
Star Balloons are Internet currency
Karen Downs-Barton is a neurodiverse poet studying MA Creative Writing at Bath Spa University. She lives close to Stonehenge in a quarryman's cottage held together with mud and hair mortar. Her non-poetic occupations include magician’s assistant and dance teacher (Middle Eastern and tango). Karen work has appeared in Alyss, The Goose, Word Gathering, The Curly Mind, Failed Haiku, Three Drops From A Cauldron, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Poetry WTF, Thank You For Swallowing, The Fem Lit’, Smuese and Otoliths amongst others.
https://thepapercutpoet.wordpress.com