Mark Tarren is a poet and writer who lives on remote Norfolk Island in the South Pacific.
His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in various literary journals including The New Verse News, The Blue Nib, Poets Reading The News, Street Light Press, Spillwords Press, Tuck Magazine and Impspired Magazine. He is currently working on a collection of poetry and a novel.
The Absence of Tears: Silentium
There is something moving away from us, outside that last known field of tenderness. Here, at the edge of this dream. When there were still tears — that trembling, last known thing. Before we raised our flags for monsters that by our own hand, has crafted us all wretches common. Where, in between the pity and terror of our lives, we could still find the last tree to plant or the first flower that once held us. For now, dry eyes are killing us from inside quiet, clean respectable rooms and the tongue that tells them so is cursed, for their darkness has cowed the better part of them. For now, here in The Silent Garden, inside the glory of a hidden life, I can hear them pass over my doorway, hear the wind underneath my bed, hear the rattle of that broken thing inside them, like a child’s toy. For in the absence of tears grows in the dry earth, the flowers of evil — that trembling, last known thing.
When things came against him he was always aware of its cursive darkness. Such as tonight, when an unguarded moment attempts to change his world of words. In their boarded-up cottage of love a bullet sings against the arms of intimacy holed across the wind-blown wood. Under the halls of their bed they hide all their little hopes in the shared singular clarity of their own desolations. Where — the needle etches across the vinyl trenches as Al Bowlly sings My Hat's on the Side of My Head. And the war is very far away wrapped up in the warmth of cardigans, cigarettes and cheap vignettes. We all have to dance within our little circles of freedom. In our very small incomplete wars out here — at the edge of the world.