Brand Spanking
By Brooklands
- 2564 reads
I made a grown woman cry tonight
I said her heart was all gristle and her lungs were rolled-up cereal packets and her spine was collapsible
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- 1527 reads
11.36am, Sunday
We were sharing a Florentine, halved like an amulet.
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- 1380 reads
A Revelatory Ghazal
A ghazal is an ancient form where each stanza must be a self-contained 'idea'. In some versions the poet's name must feature in the final line. How cool. Here's an extract: I'm changing. The bible is an excellent book, full of intertextuality and foreshadowing.
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- 1630 reads
A sure thing
When he rubbed his eyebrow at the roulette table it signified nothing.
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- 1557 reads
Alchemy
The poet snubs millenia of science by turning lead into gold in only 16 lines.
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- 1267 reads
All my uncles
It is toe-tapping good: the accidental harmony of their sinus hatches.
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- 1379 reads
Anyone ever told you that your leg folded on the story mat looks like a vagina?
the first boy in school with Seventies porn: the gangway again, admiring muffs like hedgehogs and clam vaginas ' this was the animal kingdom for sure. Worst of all, these women had our mother's haircuts so we gurned and urghed and wanted our mothers and then only felt worse at the thought.
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- 1496 reads
Avalanche
At first there were crumbs, toast at pace, then it chased me like an incoming tide until finally, the snow rolled like mist but thick as meringue.
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- 1385 reads
Black Diamond Heavies
They were only wearing Speedos and their facial hair was like a trail of gunpowder and their teeth said: IVE BEEN WAITING ALL MY LIFE
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- 1074 reads
Calling out
Don't underestimate the versatility of a scream...
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- 1590 reads
Catastrophes
Task: stack, catch, stack. I’m thinking of muesli on cotton and the slippage of boy to afternoon. Parsimonious oysters doing their oyster thing.
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- 929 reads
Cheffing
Her non-stick skin, her nipples glowing like Tefal spots, her al dente hair, her rolling pin forearms, her mortar armpits, talcum floured, her wonderful steamer, the Aga of her belly, the George Foreman of her belly, the curry-house candle-lit hot-plate of her belly,
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- 1425 reads
Colophon
This book was set in Leavened, 12pt. The font was designed by Frank Cossill during a period of predigious arrogance. He called himself “The Font” and was
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- 1085 reads
Coma
The sound was still there when, that night, I pulled up on top of Cefn Bryn to watch Mars. You can tell it's a planet because it doesn't twinkle. It's more like a torch with the batteries nearly dead. The sound was there when I tried to get to sleep. There were crickets too, loud as maracas. I hummed La Bamba as I drifted off.
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- 1405 reads
Confection
With his trunk full of Polly-waffles, Mallo-pops and Ho-hos, he brought exotic gelatines to the offies of Bristol and West. But it was slow progress hustling for rack-space
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- 925 reads
Convalesecence
A poem. Inspired by a brilliant fever I had last week.
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- 1477 reads
December in Puri
My advent calendar of malarone pills lets me now it's Christmas day. The mosquito bites on my back spell twenty-four degrees: winter. Only at dusk, mopeds careening at sixty, do we encounter some real weather:
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- 1339 reads
The Dead No Story
Particularly because of my childhood I am want to kiss your shoulder and squeeze your hand. Particularly because of my childhood I am a rock in the bedroom and on the bathroom floor.
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- 1091 reads
Theology
This is not the dark intestine. The serpent split at the belly and we spilt into paradise, half-jellied, unspined:
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- 890 reads
Review #1
Classic Dunthorne: a series of medium words vibrating lightly: a power-shower’s poor temperature control, a stopped golden pocket watch, a list of life ambitions with one item ticked.
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- 875 reads
The Warmest Room
In the certain palace a peasant kneels and explains that the regent’s callous tithing is putting undue strain on local artists.
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- 922 reads
I am not a worm
I am hopeful. I am painting my toenails in 'Knockout Red'. I am making a brooch. I've got this stuff all over me: cinnamon toast and my perfect body oh I will never be modest again.
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- 952 reads
Sanguinaccio
Watching the boy take a bite, I see a dribble of gore run down his chin. Soon enough, the whole family are tucking in. Ruby-coloured stains, like badly-applied lipstick, all around their mouths.
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- 1048 reads
Fire
Gathering armfuls of wood, feeling terrific, the wind off the sea, lighting three matches at one time and a legitimate reason to do so:
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- 873 reads
Monster
They are making a kids’ TV programme, I assume, where the protagonist is a creature who lives on a landfill site
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- 869 reads
Review #3: “Gretel’s Biscuits” by Spack
Pointless tone-setting asides, like so, mark Spack out as a writer convinced of his own charisma.
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- 1230 reads
Rat King
A Rat King is said to arise when a number of rats become intertwined at their tails and become stuck to each other with blood, dirt and excrement. I'm experimenting with strict metre, here.
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- 2 comments
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- 1179 reads
Gland IV. Edinburgh
You may not have heard of Edinburgh but it has probably heard of you.
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- 825 reads
Oh I am hungry
What I need to do is eat something small, something forgettable, like a plum. But I’m way too hungry for that.
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- 3 comments
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- 1893 reads
Instant Fires
Last term, my school introduced a one-way system for the corridors. We’ve been reading 1984 by George Orwell and I am beginning to notice the similarities.
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- 2356 reads
If it's for me, it's for everyone
Here’s what made me think of death: taking cinder from the stove, balanced on a shovel, shaking the dust over a gravelled car bay, watching it expand from breath to mist: a cape unfurled.
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- 910 reads
We dragged her ashore
she had a feeling for the whole lot of it – the things we are trying to do – like idiots, again and again – she felt a huge amount of compassion – like a health professional, a bed nurse
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- 1160 reads
It’s simple and natural
They folded up the table tennis tables. The teenagers were wearing their only suits, which were not quite black but near enough. The leisure centre laid on a buffet.
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- 1429 reads