Peter Chapman Poetry


will you be sad with me
oh will you be?

will you be sad down south
in the bougainville

sad in the saddle, yippee-i-kaiee
bite your tongue, watch your mouth

laugh a little east of south
shine the flowers, rise the sea

let our bliss be agony



sadness proves joy.
exquisite is sad, joy's
anagram. you are never
so pure as shuddering with
sad, wet with tears in vita.

feel a lime green corduroy
sofa circa 1949 near a
window with blinds half
closed to afternoon sun,
lovers kissing in old-
fashioned underwear. a
faded grape rug of furze.

in a room, same time, of peeling linoleum and browned
screens, the artist tunes the radio to the edge of the

so neither is loud.