Every week I force myself to write a new poem, because without deadlines I’ll just sit on my jacksie listening to podcasts and scooping M&Ms into my greasy, sodden maw. They’re all first drafts – sometimes they’re good, sometimes they are the direst of bum-fruit.
I do requests! If you would like a poem written for you – or someone you know – on any subject, or there’s a topic you’d like me to tackle in verse, or you’d just like to set me a challenge, get in touch via the ‘Contact Me’ button on the right, and let me know. Your suggestion may well appear as a future Poem O’ The Week.
When I punched you into the sun
I think I fell in love.
Uniformed corpses hung silhouetted from gantries
while we grappled, cantilevered with ideology
above a burning oil lake; your face
rising out of black smoke,
pale and portentous as a Magic 8-Ball triangle:
When I hit you
your belly hugged my knuckles;
I felt the connection in the belly of my molars,
heard the gasp as we disengaged,
the wind tunnel of displaced air
as you corkscrewed upwards,
oil smoke fluming in your wake;
I saw the nick in your top lip,
and how you tried to hide it
with your claw.