Sunday, 31 July 2011

Publication - Forward Press Poetry

My poem 'self service seduction' has been picked to be published in an anthology published in October by Forward Press Poetry. 200 poems were chosen, but the 50 that the judges deem superior will be put forward to the Poetry Slam competition. Poets will perform their work in front of judges and an audience and the winning poet will receive a publishing contract with Forward Press or £1,000 cash! Fingers crossed and wish me luck.


Friday, 22 July 2011

Publication - Trashed Organ Magazine

Trashed Organ is a Newcastle based literature, music and events collective which seeks to bring 'gutter poetics' to the masses. The Organ Grinders have recently branched out into zine publication. The first issue 'Music'



was published in early 2011 and the very first poem in the collection is one of mine! So that's nice.



I sent in two poems for consideration, and I actually prefer the one that they didn't publish. Both submissions are below, see what you think...

Accordion
Twirling a metaphorical
moustache, the squeezebox
bellows. An instrumental gentleman,
wheezing melodies through
pleated cloth. Folklore spills
from keys like history tamed
in minims. An asthmatic zephyr,
he sings The Suburbs to sleep.


The Prophet
The screech of the accordion;
a lacklustre, discordant hum,

eerie as the beating drum,
as final as the setting sun.

The thread of time is finely-spun,
and all round the buskers come

to hear the prophecy of one
who bellows that the race is run –

'The end is nigh! The horsemen come!'
'Repent! Recant! What have you done?'

The sands of chance through glass have run,
and still the music carries on.

The keys are worked by fingers numb,
a warning played with blackened thumbs

'Time is short, we have but none.'
'Are you proud of what you've done?'

And still the music carries on,
pressed to your chest like a loaded gun.

It rises through the panicked throng.
That lacklustre, discordant hum,

inducing dread in all who come.
As eerie as the beating drum.

Pray for release and find ye none,
the rhythm they cannot outrun.

The busker taps a hoof cloven
In time with the accordion.

Saturday, 9 July 2011

Zombie Love Song

I fancy you rotten, to the point of mutation,
I'm basically falling apart,
And if I had left some vaginal sensation,
I'd want copulation to start.

But I'm too fragile right now to start dating my dear,
My lips might come off in your mits
I've already lost all my teeth and one ear
You're smile's got me falling to bits.

Or it could be the exposure to intense radiation
That's left me with aches and with pains?
I'm quite open to rational negotiation:
Shag me or I will eat your brains.

I'm not bad to look at, if you close half an eye
And beauty's only as deep as the skin
I shed mine fortnightly and it's the reasoning why
You should give up and let my love in!

If it weren't for this virus that's eating my flesh
Would you regard me with more than disdain?
We could steal a night of passion, start out afresh?
It's that, or I will eat your brains.

I've been chased by great films stars, Bruce Campbell, Will Smith,
Charlton Heston to name but a few.
I'm still in demand though my body's rotting and stiff
But the only human I want is you.

They say that we women are manipulative
When we find we have something to gain
But just want a man to settle down with.
Well, that, or I could eat your brains.

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Whatever you want it to mean, Honey.

Pronoun verbed.
Noun verbed adverbedly.
Preposition proper-noun, pronoun verbed
conjunction verbed conjunction verbed.
Adjective noun.
Verb.