ditch,

the poetry that matters

Craig Podmore

Craig Podmore is from Manchester, UK. Erbacce Press published his first book, I Am a Gun earlier this year. His material has also appeared on many online zines such as Gloom Cupboard, The Plebian Rag, The Scottish Poetry Review and Epic Rites.  Craig is also a photographer and filmmaker.

A Plate of Violence

Cremaster revolver ceasefire,
Gas mask kids singing plague songs –

They do not know the world.
Like we do.
Or that the rabbit did.
The one that Alice chased.
Preposterous fools although

All virgins live without fear
And sado-masochists
Inflict Hiroshima
On porno victims
Of war zone
Vixens.

Like we do.
For when we pay tax.

Megalomaniacs on PCP
Gorging snuff films.
Like we do.
In the supermarkets.

Holocaust deniers
Quoting Genesis 1:1
At the dinner table.
Like we do.
During a one minute silence.

We’re all barbarians
Waiting for a plate
Of violence to be served
With a Western hospitality
 
  

  

Semiotic Paramedic

Only tourist representatives created
Lenin’s tomb

Like deathbed quotes of atheists.

Soldiers’ graves in sunny resorts,
Abandoned by God and man.

Mary, mother of our Lord
Is hospitalised –

Mortality grazed,
The judge of the universe perplexed.

Omnipotence terrorists
Vomit White House fallacies.

Maybe you make the most sense
On that hill in Lithuania.

Pieces of wood,
Symbols structured by man.

They’re just deathbed quotes
Of atheists and criminals.

God is just a pseudonym of hope.

What if Christ was crucified on a swastika?
Does that thought

Hurt you?

Semiotic paramedics
For those who have been martyred.

Semantic dyslexics
In this modern church of disposable ideas.

We are the wood.
We are the nails.
We are the spear.

Burning the books that are UnHuman.

 
 

This Playground is Terminally Ill

This playground is terminally ill.
The scabs that are the headlines
On the breakfast table.

In the ileostomy bag
There’s suffering congealed
Like dark matter

Formed in the big bang.

Ever looked unto the dying face of Longsheng?
The abyss between the myth and the hopeful;
The coffin of God and the existence of nothing.

So we suffer to create meaninglessness.
We destroy to create a life of
Uncertainty and immense pain.

Please apply your methods of hurt
And show me the path to what
Is really

Human.

 

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