The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

The Web Poetry Corner

W. Andy Meier

Sandringham, Auckland, NZ

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Simon Meiklejohn, you can contact this author at: (Simon Meiklejohn)

Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery



Simon Meiklejohn

Our conversation, candid, arid,
powered, vapid, censored, rapid,
ponderous, good natured,
accompanies a feast,
our mouths move like chewing carrot.

a storm is coming


Simon Meiklejohn

The hot wind of these last few days
becomes a storm somethime tonight.
A friend says the sea forecast
is for eight metre swells. That is
more than four times my height.
The winds sixty knots, gusting eighty.

This heat has given me a headache.
For days now the christmas food has
sat in my belly. And tonight there
is a storm.

At midnight i could drive to the harbour
and count the boats washed up on the
shore. Maybe i could cross over the
bridge, above the wild harbour, and
watch those waves throw themselves
at the front gardens of the rich in

But i am tired and the rain falling
now tells me just to sleep. Let the
storm throw itself around the sea walls
and drum its raindrops on a thousand
or a million tin roofs. Let my christmas
food give me uneasy dreams instead of
lovers i forgot to take.

fables, cables, labels


Simon Meiklejohn

figures in a carnival,
gaily masked and barely real,
perhaps are human neath their masks,
who can, or wants to, tell if they are

fables (reaching out from a youthful education)

an actor with a rugged jaw,
his dame clings to his angled form,
their path to me is straightly drawn by

cables (paid for by subscription, installed by a technician)

to place a sticker on a jar,
unpack a sentence and placing its contents
in a mental larder, all involve the use of




Simon Meiklejohn

At five years old
we walked barefoot down a hot summer road
our hands linked, your right, my left,
linked, our littlest fingers hooked the other's
a slight touch, denying the connection
but undeniably
holding hands