Two Poems from Robert Beveridge

BLACK NOISE by Robert Beveridge

“The things of this world are fluid, they/take our shape” –Keith Waldrop, “Legion’s Grammar”


claw tick:

unknown beast

hunted, devoured

in midnight ritual



just felt


under ears


heavy pumpkin


on frozen vine


clay bends, twists


last heat gives out

we vibrate to live


its breath a cold bellows






OUTSKIRTS OF TRENTON by Robert Beveridge



won’t even come here

stitched streets

overrun with dogs

and gangs


on Calhoun

a little farther in

the punks stake

out their territory

tape decks blast

local hardcore

and amplified

vacuum cleaners


where black angels

with baseball bats

and tire irons

fear to tread




About the author: Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry in Akron, OH. He  celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of his first publication in November 2018, and has since published over a thousand poems. Recent/upcoming appearances in Cough Syrup, Penumbra, and Lowestoft Chronicle, among others.

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