Kris Spencer is a teacher and writer living in London. His two collections, Contact Sheets (2024) and Life Drawing (2022), are published by Kelsay Books.
Contact Sheets Paperback – 9 Jan. 2024
by Kris Spencer (Author)Contact Sheets is a stunning collection of poetry that is atmospheric and engaging, with a contemplative sweetness that lingers. This collection is brimming with poems that grasp the reader with deep, vibrant visuals and unmatched precision of language. Parts of this collection reveal moments of tenderness and affection, while others reflect on the sweet sting of childhood and the nostalgia we find there. Others still contain moments bordering on soft mysticism that delve into acute observations of the natural world and our place within it. Reading this collection feels akin to witnessing a poem swallow a photograph, melding together to become something beautiful and necessary. Contact Sheets is a contemplation of the sanctity of everyday moments—it is both a journey and a destination.
—Ariel K. Moniz
Co-Founder and Editor, The Hyacinth Review. Winner of the 2016 Droste Poetry Award.
The Spanish Garden, Villefranche
In the old garden, hibiscus and cactus
shine. The acacias shade the clear water
of the pond. Still wrapped in florist’s
cellophane, a forgotten bouquet leans
against the wall of a cave cut in the cliff.
A winged statue of grey marble looks down,
marked on one side by the droppings of
swallows that swoop low in the heat
to drink on the wing. I know by heart
the order in which the people will come
to this walled place. The young woman
with her thick book, curls luminous
as a cloud of dust. Sitting opposite,
the elegant old man with his threadbare
tie, knotted loose; he wears a mossy wool
jacket, and looks cold even in the sun.
The tall nanny stands apart, a prodigy of
patience. One fist on her hip, she calls out
smiling. Her children play among the
benches. These people that I know and don’t
know are me, somehow. I might become a
plant here and sprout into fruit, get pecked
by a bird. Or, be the hands that composed
this cheat of nature; so much like a life.
The day seems to flow motionlessly, like
a chalk stream in summer. Curled seed pods,
big as postcards, stiffen on the pea-gravel path.
Below, the harbor boats knock together.
White clouds come across and soften the light.
The shimmering sea is almost still, soft waves
break quieter than the hum of insects in the
scrub hedge. The soul’s skin clears.
A Tourist Asks: Is That So Bad?
This is the place of giants
and dwarves: you might grow
or shrink here. There is the smell
of the sea and grilled meat.
Music floats like cigarette smoke.
The dunes are breaking, they shift
and fall: the sand won’t hold without
the stiff grass. Wooden shack door, I
touch the handle. Waves blow in, oily
with lotion, and catch fire in the sun.
People come here to wait. They wait
and believe in waiting. Is that so bad?
If your slender frame is broken. Why
not right here? What if a volcano comes
to add ash? Would our powder sink down
to make new rock on the ocean floor?
Was it water that came first or did
the carbon rise up like pollen? Three
flights up and bent like a supplicant
in prayer. Where is truth’s bud buried?
Poetry in this post: © Kris Spencer
Published with the permission of Kris Spencer