Great Poets

by Poetry

for there to be successful writers,
commercial poets
great poets recording twisted skeletons
of the age – a scaffold of mediocre writers,
poets who call themselves poets;
beauty and analysis
are not enough – you
demand ugliness & half-beauties
& blindness
below them;

I am one such; proud
to walk ahead
protected by a guttural brow,
unfriendly – proletariat
through the streets
to sketch the souls
great poets deemed beneath
their hands &
left on the pavements
                                              bird-shit souls
to stare at the stars
& dream of first loves
& first lines
& no applause

It would be so easy to declare this writing the work of a great poet, misunderstood in their own time. It is a tempting proposition. However, it isn’t true. No Miller in his youth. No Lawrence smouldering tuberculosis. Nothing. A damaged thing, struggling to cry in the dark and feel in the dawn.

Free eBooks

modern poetry


You’re in my fingers and I can’t get you out; I can smell you. Warm & wet & dreaming - every time I push a key, you come curling out smoke in good light given form – not human, something else; an angel, if I believed in angels; a devil if I could believe sin...

Beautiful & Meaningless

were I a painter
& could distend light
across empty skies
I would paint the bodies of Christ
as they rolled in their eternal
loves & agonies

Cotton Books

body-bed-body torturous
he read for hours
until the night feeling & bedsheets
more than a form
& the long-dead

Local Politics (Dream 9)

Sinister bloody sexless thing blowing out of Market Street with a red ridden burlap sack and a blood iron hood – a sexless thing, I said, from the depths of darkest spring sidling up the side streets with a swing in his thigh obsessed thighs. Sidling into men, don’t...