Assorted poetry that must be put to art

A lot of these old books

Sadden me

And when you passed them

They would choke in noiseless air


Imbibed with solemnity

Corners unkempt

Their demise interwoven

With your elapsed reverie


I read something the other day

Letters shovelled ingloriously

In the pillowcase

Bereft of sense, they had forgot you


A warm caress of morning bereavement

She would not be thinking or would have forgot

Green skin wrapped round discoloured tobacco

Working hours, a focus of tender myopia


A more possessive case

Reflected opposite


He possessed a nickname

Which is cause enough

For a resentment held dear

To manifest and make a stomach turn


Lubricated painkillers

Inserted with tepidity into narrow gullet

A melancholic prescription

For rabid angst and sexual fervour


Swallowing in such a fearless way

Sucking her lips

Dented by prescription

His nickname was longer than his name


Over lost planes of bored desires

We lost our way indefinitely

Audacious in the tedium

Little respite, little heaven

Chewing constant

Breath weak

Strong only in the lost planes

Of bored desires


Stuffed tablecloth down trachea

Other orifices accounted for

Swollen bottleneck, a dim impasse

Chew, chew, chew


Cavity wall knocked through

Clutters throat

Foaming canines let loose

Chew, chew, chew


Time spoken for

Discarded skeleton key

Eternal lockjaw

He missed the ideal breakfast


Crashing hands on turgid flesh

Loose movements given away

To susceptible breaks of mechanic limbs

Coloured canvas drawn by violet splutter


No rope burn, but unbearable heat

Protagonists split

By humanity and decision

Fallen hands, given rest


The cuts of tenderised meat

Amalgamated with brush stroke

Jostle and burrow under straw

Separate, not together


When one lives with such carefree abandon and lack of inhibition

There will be times, with great inevitably

Of extreme insecurity, great worry

And ultimately unrelenting sadness


The trick I assume is not to worry

And laugh at the juvenile nature

Which one had held dear

But not to forget it


You’d be lucky

To find a physician

To do such a thing

Such a grisly procedure


Your talents as an actress

Have overwhelmed your senses

Your humanity

Your love of persons


To play a part

Your slender frame cannot suffer

The indignity of swollen fruit

So you are a murderer


Published by

Joseph Owen

PhD, Carl Schmitt, Modernism and Sovereignty at University of Southampton

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s