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    [ID] => 17897
    [post_author] => 18
    [post_date] => 2017-03-29 19:19:20
    [post_date_gmt] => 2017-03-29 19:19:20
    [post_content] => there are holes in the sky                                      and we name them
we name them                                               after things that matter
after things that matter                              and the Gods of our Days
and the Gods of our Days                                like The Great Stapler
like The Great Stapler                          which attaches the night to us
which attaches the night to us                         and the words to ideas
and the ideas to words                                             that are just light
that are just light                                           packaged in dark matter

dark matter                                                  sent first class to our eyes
first class to our eyes                            so we might know their names
know their names                                          these things that matter
things that matter                                             like the Photo Copier
the Photo Copier                                 scanning and remembering us
scanning and remembering us              as though we were exoplanets
we were exoplanets                                        with atmospheres of ink

ink                                                              full of bright mating cries
mating cries                               from Gods of our Days like the Gull
the Gull                                                   whose beak marks the poles
the poles                                                    whose screams are tectonic
tectonic                                               in the bin-man’s crackling eyes
eyes                                                           where names do not matter
not matter                                                                so we name them
name them                                                                  holes in the sky
    [post_title] => The Desktop Metaphor
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => the-desktop-metaphor
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2017-06-12 11:38:54
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-06-12 11:38:54
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=17897
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
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    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2016
            [wpcf-summary-description] => 'The Desktop Metaphor' won second prize in the 2016 National Poetry Competition. 

From the judges: "I really like the way that the form and the repetitions in this poem make for something a bit churchy, a bit call-and-response, and at the same time the way the phrases develop and mutate, layering up each assertion. By the end the poem has come full-circle, but it’s not the same circle we started off with: something has been shifted. Also I love “The Great Stapler” and the “Photo Copier”, which lend a humorous, imaginative tone to the grinding office job the “Gods of our Days” undertake in their administration of the “things that matter”. It’s weird, and smart, and confident, bringing something vast, strange and unresolvable within reach." - Jack Underwood

The poem also featured on BBC Radio 4's Poetry Please, hosted by Roger McGough, on their programme themed around 'Work' broadcast in May 2017. [wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => 2nd Prize, National Poetry Competition 2016 [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 17875 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Caleb Parkin [slug] => caleb-parkin [content] => Caleb Parkin is a freelance poet, performer, facilitator, educator and filmmaker, based in Bristol. He previously worked in TV, radio & print media, and is currently studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. His work has appeared in online and print journals, planetaria, schools, museums, computer shops, wildlife events, festivals and beyond. His work can be found at couldbethemoon.co.uk/where/publication/ and www.word-rocket.co.uk. ) )
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 17875
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Caleb Parkin
    [slug] => caleb-parkin
    [content] => Caleb Parkin is a freelance poet, performer, facilitator, educator and filmmaker, based in Bristol. He previously worked in TV, radio & print media, and is currently studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. His work has appeared in online and print journals, planetaria, schools, museums, computer shops, wildlife events, festivals and beyond. His work can be found at couldbethemoon.co.uk/where/publication/ and www.word-rocket.co.uk.
)

The Desktop Metaphor

Caleb Parkin

there are holes in the sky                                      and we name them
we name them                                               after things that matter
after things that matter                              and the Gods of our Days
and the Gods of our Days                                like The Great Stapler
like The Great Stapler                          which attaches the night to us
which attaches the night to us                         and the words to ideas
and the ideas to words                                             that are just light
that are just light                                           packaged in dark matter

dark matter                                                  sent first class to our eyes
first class to our eyes                            so we might know their names
know their names                                          these things that matter
things that matter                                             like the Photo Copier
the Photo Copier                                 scanning and remembering us
scanning and remembering us              as though we were exoplanets
we were exoplanets                                        with atmospheres of ink

ink                                                              full of bright mating cries
mating cries                               from Gods of our Days like the Gull
the Gull                                                   whose beak marks the poles
the poles                                                    whose screams are tectonic
tectonic                                               in the bin-man’s crackling eyes
eyes                                                           where names do not matter
not matter                                                                so we name them
name them                                                                  holes in the sky