conor-letham
English
Hi, my name's Conor Letham. / / I'm a twenty three year old honours graduate in English & Creative Writing from the University of Northampton, UK, where I studied poetry under the author Professor Charles Bennett. This account is employed to hang my latest workings.
sit down; Mexican standoff
side saddle head cocked
readily shot-stare asunder
to paper/pen & the
grinning wince.
employment; where are you
now? You, in current state
gaseous coagulation, you
neither “in the mix” or
ahead.
bullet point; list thoughts
& aspirations, where you
thought you ought to
wish you were here!ing
and not.
T&C; going forward agree
to meet the anticipated
expectations as if you
wore that crown to say
"you own you".
handshake; the formality
contracts its bindings,
and the paper witness
writ as statement that
we will
do this again sometime.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
peeled back eyelids
splay venous binding;
snake skin exoskeleton
though not brittle but
woven like rope
stretches its casket,
though tenuous, its
compound dimples
gaze as pupils not
sure where the
sun is meant
to be
I leave
a jilted shell -
afterbirth horror! -
as forgone lifebearer
so that by contract,
unspoilt to be ridden,
a progeny delights
in its own delicacy.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
Sunflower cereal;
trickled clumps
cast into demi-
dune sacrificial,
China region
size cup cusp,
awaiting
the
cantankerous
gulps of pearl
globules seeped
through crinkle
cut skin petals
to sounds like
wet paper pulp
mulch peeling
in a bake sizzle.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
got a pink bulb
suckered in mouth—
spit it out. dribble
gobstopper sun,
pause motion to
explosive creation
cake the surface
rubber dumb, POP!
sharp tap like a
snare bubble
vacuum record
in recycling bin
you had it made
su-per-ma-ssive
try again a same
chum the chew
begin renew
anew anew review
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 9:17 AM UTC
it’s a dream
under cities’
block bricks
a small house
like canvas
squats cut out,
array of colour
not black
or grey, or white,
is tangerines
and strawberries
paper works,
also a ribbon
picket fence
take a stick to
beat of a ribcage
diagnose blame
too memorable
no serious future
says this dream
it’s a lucid one.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
Building contrasts
between the holes
shaped by fists
through wall cracks
to finger holes
in my knitted jumper-
I feel hole-punched by
layers and sediments,
each blend of fibre
becomes microscopic
to a solid form, or
a strangled kite:
Do you know how
a kite flies without
breath? It makes
sail in the earth,
depths in oceans,
drowns in vacuums.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
We own a pond;
mottled bluebottle,
flecked in freckles
when the sunlight
skims the surface
between the moss.
I dip a finger inside
and stir. A nebula
swills, swirling like
a whisk of spilt oil
from a water spot
sometimes found
underneath a car.
My fist plunges in,
embalming a gulp;
moss bandages
around the orb that,
withdrawing in drips,
I see a new world
set alight upon it.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
he got caught;
yes I got him
caught on the
edge of 2nd &
crux,
he turns to me
on eyes glazed
through a pane
of his car, white
balloon balancing
the pretty cast
of his head. It
serves the eye -
it isn't quite there
as I move closer,
parallel to collide
as sensations start
to crunch.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Peering down
an empty bottle
we've begun
a kaleidoscope
full of broken
memories and
twist of tongues
where nights
flash, conducting
awareness to all
and everything,
a glare of mirrors
basked above us
in splendid colour
with my hands
firmly earthed
into yours.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
Coffee house
windows drape
litters of faces
like teabags
milk white but
feature black yolks
in sunken pits--
sinking pits, dip
under the morning
embers. Sunny side
where? A day begins
though you lot, out
to dry, waiver it off;
It's not ours, you say,
It's yours and you's
filling the streets below.
We's wait for the sunny,
we's wait for the up.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:10 AM UTC