Books

Furniture is Disappearing:

Poetry for the Passionate and Heartbroken

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Furniture is Disappearing by Gemma Ann WhiteWritten during her somewhat turbulent 20’s, in this book of poetry Gemma Ann White bares her soul and invites the reader into her life to witness love gone wrong, intimate encounters with strangers and escapades into imagination. If you feel alone in your existential angst, read this book as medicine for the mind. 

What others have said about this book:

“These intelligent poems marry the reflective and sensory with a clarity that brings direct experience into sharp focus. A momentary experience of a subjective reality is more important than the search for meaning because, as in these poems, these enacted moments are not about merely marking the passing of time they are about being fully awake to an emotional truth. These poems make honesty an art form for a richer experience of being alive.”

– Claire Gaskin, Poet, A Snail in the Ear of Buddha, a bud,and Paperweight

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“The poems are equally as sensual; looking through the window into the poet’s experience of sex, adventure, longing, relationships that begin, end, and where the “furniture is disappearing” as lives are packed up and removed. White, in sharing her experience with such beautiful poetry, engages the reader in the experience of her life.”

– Roxanne Bodsworth, Poet and Reviewer (Goodreads) 

“Gemma White’s poetry is like watching the world in the surface of a puddle on a crisp suburban morning. Everything is there, in sharp, intimate detail, inviting you to reach in; and there begins the beauty, the gentle, shimmering distortions of the everyday. White is able to pinpoint the emotional core of a given scene and render it elastic, equal parts question and answer. “Furniture is Disappearing” is a wonderful debut collection.”

– Brendan Bonsack, Poet and Musician

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Sample Poems:

Skin

You say you don’t like me
But something keeps you
Hanging around here
Drinking my Smirnoff
You say it tastes better with
Someone else there
I think it’s okay, because
As the bottle empties
I get closer to touching your skin
Never a kiss, just cheek
A hand around
The middle of your delicious stomach
I don’t know what this friendship
Is based on, maybe just
The drinking of Smirnoff
Into the early hours
And the promise
Of your skin.

Ardent Lovemaking

The first time we did it,
We laughed like lunatics
Felt the whole world at its knees
Everything stopping momentarily.

We laughed like lunatics
Finally I’d found someone unafraid to laugh
Everything stopping momentarily
The world divides in unison.

Unafraid to laugh, finally I’d found someone
We woke the housemates with our uproar
The world divides in unison
Everything shifts, out of balance.

We, with our uproar, woke the housemates,
Turning over, stuffing pillows over heads
Out of balance, everything shifts
Now you’re in someone else’s arms.

Turning over, stuffing pillows over heads
It was never again as good as the first time
Now you are in someone else’s arms
And you ring me up, you ring me up.

It was never again as good as the first time
You say: you don’t do it enough with her
And you ring me up, you ring me up
Saying: she doesn’t do oral sex.

You say: you don’t do it enough with her
Not with the frequency we used to do it.
Saying: she doesn’t do oral sex
Oh, but I love her, how I love her.

Not with the frequency we used to do it
The first time we did it,
Oh, but I love her, how I love her
Felt the whole world at its knees.

Where I grew up

The trees had their wings clipped,
lumbering amputees with leaves.

The grasses were tamed
Into regimented geometrics,
Mowed on a Sunday, watered till green.

Water came from a plastic tube,
Creating arcs skipped through on a hot day,
And we all thought it infinite.

Mum

I.

Your thoughts like
scrambled egg;

I wonder where.
I wonder where the pieces
went?

Which are gone for good?

II.

One day, I remember
I asked you
to pass the margarine.
You asked; which
particular trapeze
I was referring to.

On these days
I get scared
(even-in-my-young-adult-skin).

I get scared
(that the nightmare)
could come after me too.

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