How much of me is my body? (Braindump Poem #3)

I

He looked like a superhero

without the mask,

all white and stony stern

with a whip in his eyes.

He held me but he

wouldn’t know

how I kissed the secret

on his flesh: cwtch.

I could hide in his shirt’s long shadow

unzip my crusted eyes

with the gag of his scent

silencing my skin.

 .

How much of me is my body?

II

Something new, electric

buzzed to life as synapses

kissed. Eureka!

moaned the monster

at the mirror.

I could become

the paint that rings around

the eye,

the spokes that peer out from

the heart,

the dye that bleeds on

the bathroom floor.

 .

How much of me is my body?

 

III

It latched like a

small child would,

rode the world on

my spinal cord,

giggling with its

teeth like hands

clutching my eyes.

I could melt away

with that moment,

seep into the cracks

of the rocking earth

under my empty shoes.

 .

How much of me is my body?

IV

And here we have

enshrined a blob

in a blobbier container.

Its goopy transcendence

can teach and mend us

like all sound-wounds can.

I could condemn my eyes

to sentences, dislocate

them, roll them like dung

balls into someone

else’s skull, warm them

‘til they fall apart like questions.

 .

How much

of me is

my body?

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Club (Braindump Poem #2)

1

The faltering beads of sweat sway

As strong arms in unison play

As smog sways up to greet the sky

Money buzzes through mouth and eye

Pockets

Thin and dry

2

The conveyor belt looks up high

To see the hands that fashion

This artifice of sweat and light

This paranoia pulsion

This clash

Of need and might

3

Push piston! Crash and lock!

Let the model meet the maker!

Raise your hand! Fire your gun!

Grab all that you are and run!

Strong arms sunder! Tear the cloth!

Smear the make-up! End the sloth!

Scream we are we are we are we are

“we are we are we are we are”

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101 (Braindump Poem #1)

(Read the full version here)

1

I don’t understand;

it’s not like the movies

2

(eyes meet hearts beat turn feet hey!

i just… i just wanted

to tell you

you look beautiful today).

3

Eyes meet heart beats heads down hmm…

1)   No kids or girlfriend

(that’s a good start)

2)   How far are we now from Queen Street?

(apt name that. ha.)

3)   That jumper… maybe?

(yeah but, the current fashion…)

4)   And that stubble’s honed down

(i agree, a little too precisely. but then again…)

4

And that isn’t even starting

to touch

on the bigger questions, like

Isn’t there enough

of love, enough

to fill the gaping

wounds like salt?

5

And when I look back up

the movie in my mouth has

bombed in my box office brain.

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Site Update

Hello all, it’s been a while!

I’ve been getting back into writing lately after a long break, and have decided to update this website. It is now clearer, more focused on my work and less on my ideas.

The theme and URL have also changed as a result, though if you are reading this you already know that!

I will start publishing poetry directly onto my blog. I envision this as a space for rough pieces, poetry that I feel I must write, rather than poetry written with a clear artistic purpose in mind. ‘Braindump’ poems, if you will. I aim to post at least one blog poem a month, in addition to continuing with my other creative works.

I have published the first braindump poem already, titled ‘101’. You can read it here.

Don’t forget, you can also reach me on Facebook and Wattpad.

The Juvenalia

An update to inform you all of my plans regarding my collection of stories and poems, ‘The Juvenalia’ which I’m working on at the moment.

Basically, it’s composed of three stories (although two of them are long enough to be eBooks themselves) plus a collection of 6 poems. I’m thinking of laying it out as follows:

1. What Is Built: a novella in two parts. It is set in a fantasy world where, at adolescence, one is given the choice to either join the Osren (a race of fish-people) or the Nuvgol (a race of bird-people). The first part, called ‘Doe’, is already complete. It’s about a young woman called Elkett who is torn between the two choices. Two men, one of the Nuvgol and one of the Osren, are vying for her love. When civil war breaks out between the two clans, it seems as though Elkett’s fate is decided for her, though this is not the case. The second part, ‘Phoenix’ sees the Osren, the Nuvgol and the land-dwellers unite in a war against the neighbouring Palrin, whose society is far more conservative in nature. What is at first a simple land dispute escalates into full-scale ideological warfare. ‘What Is Built’ is the longest part of ‘The Juvenalia’

2. Bloody Tulip: A short story about a young man who is drawn into fighting as part of a religious Crusade. Over the course of the story, he comes to realise that the “noble warriors”‘ alongside whom he is fighting are no better than “The Enemy”, whom he has been taught to hate. The shortest part of ‘The Juvenalia’.

3. Heroism: A long short story/short novella which is told from the perspective of Linmar, a fire mage and member of a “band of brothers” who venture out on epic quests, get the girl(s), etc. Linmar lives in the shadow of Rathor, the almighty Hero who leads the group. Through an informal perspective and a certain acerbic wit, Linmar comments on the hypocritical nature of values such as “honour”, “nobility” and “Heroism” (all of which enrapture Rathor) as they journey into perilous caves, battle fearsome dragons and brave dangerous waters.

4. Diary of a Juvenile: A collection of six poems which detail my progression from a naïf boy into a young man. Most of them deal with my sexuality in some way. They are entitled ’13’, ‘The Week’, ‘Love of the Forest Faerie’, ‘Language Barrier’, ‘More’ and ‘This Is the Closest I Can Get’.

I shall put extracts from each of these parts on my blog soon!

To Taste the Sun

“It’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be dangerous!”

“Don’t be such a baby!”

The determination in your eyes twinkled in the dim orange sunlight. It was the last day of summer, and we were sitting at the lonely pier, the place beyond the Do Not Cross signs that separated the brave from the boring. Our legs dangled over the edge of the concrete harbour, and when the waves were tall enough they patted our roughened toes and tickled our feet with salty softness. We had sat at that spot every day that summer, but we never went into the sea. It was one of the few things you were afraid of. The other two were big dogs, and our school-teacher, Mrs Thomas.

“I’m not being a baby, I’m being sensible!” I whined.

“But you promised! You said at the start of summer that you’d climb the tower with me this year!”

You were right, I had promised, but I had hoped that you would forget; climbing the tower meant facing my fear of heights. Besides that, the tower was huge and unsound. Even from where we were sat we could hear the wind creaking through the gaps in its wooden walls. I said nothing, but shot you a look of apprehension which you ignored, as usual, persisting in a voice that was always far too boisterous for a girl your age, “You’re not going to break your promise, are you?”

I said nothing, widening my eyes in a plea for rationality. What I received in return, however, was certainly not what I had hoped for.

“But it’s so tall! When we reach the top, we can touch the sun! Yes, I’m sure we can! You can, even, it’s that tall!”

Trust you to bring my height into this. I could do little to restrain the giggles as you continued. “I wonder what the sun’ll feel like. I reckon it’ll be like hot treacle.”

“What’s that?” I inquired, wiping my eyes. Your face stretched as you beamed widely, accentuating your summer freckles. You always took great pleasure in knowing something I didn’t.

“One time, when my mam was alive, she baked me a big hot treacle cake. When it was cool enough, I stuck my fingers in. It was like a gooey sea, but with sugar instead of salt, and warm instead of cold. That’s what the sun’ll feel like, I think – What’s so funny, may I ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said.

“Well, come on then!” You jumped to your feet, threw the ice lolly stick you had been toying with into the swirling sea, and grabbed me swiftly by the arm. I still don’t recall agreeing to this, but moments later we were running – barefooted, arm-in-arm – to the wooden tower at the pier’s corner. It seemed to me that no time had passed before we were standing beneath its hulking shadow.

… Read the rest here. Don’t forget to vote and to ‘fan’ me! :)x

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