Content warning: self-harm, mental illness, sex, difficult family relationships, bad language (as in swearing; the poems themselves are all stuffed with brilliant language!).
Roll up, roll up, and read these utter delights from four of our young poets, all of whom received honourable mentions in the lovely Fiona Benson's judge's report! Today we've got the revelation that bad sex that never texts you back in a satisfying way, a carnival heart, words that are bleach in eyes, and a stomach that becomes a punk scream, amongst other stunning-ness. We'll be sharing all the poems that received mentions in batches over the next few days, and the winning poems are coming up shortly, so buckle up and get ready to be wowed.
My Bedroom Has Started To Look Like The Bathroom I Lost My Virginity In
and the way my legs softly bend around my quilt is a bruised desire that sits
like the school nurses hand on a child's skinned knee. Thumping
itself against my fear of being blocked on instagram and
embarrassing smalltalk. Sometimes when the fluorescent lights are particularly fluorescent
I feel the muscles in my heart crumble
to an old tea bag. If you don't pay close enough attention
the running tap water can be mistaken for the buzz
of a cell phone. The thing about bad sex is that it never texts you back
in a satisfying way. Like it needs to know you.
The paper cut on my finger is the warm spot I try to hold our bodies in.
Closer and tighter until they are just broken blood vessels.
I am not the most practical person.
I am scared of swingsets and am overly excited to watch non-celebrities eat cockroaches on tv.
I mistake the hum of a seashell for the whine between my legs.
Right now I am waiting for an instagram filter to fall in love with me.
One day the whisper of our bodies will perform
a disappearing act. In that moment I will know very little
about being a precious thing.
by Raina Greifer, aged 21, based in Bath
Raina says: I am a queer writer and performance-maker. I am inspired by reality TV and the small collection of herbs on my windowsill. My work explores themes of sex, grief and femininity. I have been published by House Letters, Constellations Magazine, and Leeve Magazine. As a spoken word artist I have performed as a co-headliner for Bristol Femme Night and Raise the Bar's 'Spotlight' event.
Stasis
The coffee comes out velvet smooth; flows
And forms with the force blending everything
Into one, the body and soul matters
Again like a Sunday morning grooving to music.
Then the message breaks through like sunlight
Falling on the room weaving my grief and
Racing heart into one with the leaves – and the breeze
Follows to sure up and set the motion in place.
I sip the coffee as I open the app
And your smiling face meets mine in memory
And reply some inane shite – the carnival heart
Spurring my body and soul onward. Thumping until
Breaking its confines into shuddering thought
Panic comes up and out and pours
And pours and pours
And spills.
by Michael Morgan, aged 22, from Coventry
Michael says: I’m a Birmingham City football fan, socialist activist, poet and academic in that exact order. I graduated from English and Creative writing at Warwick last year, and am now pursuing a masters degree in critical and cultural theory. My favourite poets are Phillip Larkin , Roger McGough and John Donne. Recently I’ve focussed on writing sonnet(ishes) like ‘Stasis’ which I’m performing today. It’s a poem about that feeling I’m sure we’ve all known in lockdown, where you get a message from someone – it might be an ex or a tutor or a family member with bad news – that just sets you on edge.
Am I clean enough?
Rule 1: We never iron: let our creases be seen,
but stains aren’t allowed in our house.
Rule 2: We do not shout,
only stutter
like s-o-r-r-y
is the most said,
yet the hardest to pronounce.
My mother taught me to clean between the lines.
Don’t ask questions.
Question yourself.
Rule 3: Your apology, was it clean enough to eat my supper off?
If not,
try again
like a venn diagram of begging.
The words are bleach in my eyes;
I want to tell her I’m not sorry anymore.
I ask her a question:
is sorry a word for me to say or for me to mean?
I ask her a question and straight away I
apologize.
by Lauren Temple, aged 20, from Manchester
Lauren says: I’ve always loved creative writing, but only got into poetry three years ago when I joined the Manchester based poetry collective Young Identity. They published my poem 'After-Birth' in their newest anthology Ecosystems of Fury - please email enquiries@youngidentity.org if you're interested in buying a copy.
I am currently working on a mini collection about the emotional inheritance we get from our family and upbringing. My main interests are in poetry that works equally for reading aloud as it does the page, as well an interest in the visual nature of poetry; my main influences are Imagist poets, such as H.D.
I wrote ‘Am I clean enough?’, with the intention to explore the contradictions and tensions within family dynamics, the unsaid rules, and the things we wish we could say yet don’t seem possible in the moment. I love poetry because it allows me to express things that I struggle to say in everyday language.
Mixed Episode
Technicolour multiverse creation, I snipped
At my skin with fabric scissors, watched the
Blood unspool like silk thread, clown bright.
My body denied scarring. I bled like I was
barely breathing. Listening to
Lust for Life and eating tinned macaroni, I
Crawled under paranoid bedsheets and
Kicked my legs through the night – house
Rhythm. Bought co-codamol at the local
Chemist and took so many I may as well
Have swallowed batteries. Let my stomach
Become a punk scream, all marred lining
And acid. Laid gum tacky on the floor,
Mind melting into body melting into
Carpet. Piled duvet atop duvet and
Refused to go to lectures.
Stupid, cut-up girl. Twenty-seven-club
Wannabe. Paranormal-blooded freak.
Crashing maniac. Bad thing.
by Naoise Gale, aged 20, from Huddersfield
Naoise says: I'm an Autistic poet from West Yorkshire. I always enjoyed writing, but poetry became a huge part of my life again last year, when I was recovering from some mental illnesses and found solace in words. The poet that most inspired me to give the craft a go was Melissa Lee Houghton, who writes very powerful, confessional style poetry. I also love Gaia Rajan and Bobby Parker. I quickly became obsessed with reading and writing poetry - it is my way of communicating and understanding my emotions. My poem ‘Mixed Episode’ was written over the course of an evening, and is very much from the heart. As well as being published widely in literary magazines and journals (such as Opia Lit, Versification and Re-Side Zine), I was runner up in the Parkinson’s Art Poetry Competition 2020, and my debut pamphlet After the Flood Comes the Apologies has been accepted for publication. It is due out with Nine Pens in October 2021. To keep up to date with my poetry, you can follow me on twitter @naoisegale13 or visit my linktree: https://linktr.ee/NaoiseGale
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