DEBUT COLLECTION 'CASUALLY DISCUSSING THE INFINITE' AVAILABLE NOW Casually Discussing the Infinite is the debut collection of the Yorkshire born, Wales dwelling poet Stuart Buck. Tackling issues both microscopic and magnificent, from snails to seismology, bacteria to the Big Bang, this diverse and often powerful collection of verse is the culmination of three years of writing and self-discovery. Life can be both brutal and brilliant, often at the same time, and these poems capture that synergy, of life and death, love and loathing. Both childlike and world-weary, they paint a haunting, mesmeric picture of life both yesterday, today and tomorrow. ORDER HERE - http://amzn.to/2opu5L2 READ A REVIEW HERE - http://bit.ly/2qJ22Ka CHAPBOOK OF MICRO-POETRY - http://amzn.to/2o6Su7y Stuart Buck. Writer, poet, damn fine cook and not bad at chess. I have spent most of my adult life working as a chef in busy kitchens with little time for any other pursuits. After giving it up in January 2015 I started writing poetry more frequently after previously dabbling in some of the shorter forms. My poems have been published in/on The Stare's Nest, Acumen, Cultured Vultures, Deadsnakes, Lost Souls Anthology, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Erbacce Journal, Rats Ass Review, The Seventh Quarry, Melancholy Hyperbole, Walking is Still Honest, Yellow Chair Review, Selcouth Station, The Haiku Journal, The Tanka Journal, Storyteller, Gambling the Aisle, The Sunflower Collective and Under the Fable. I have been a featured poet on 'Caught in the Net', Poetry Super Highway, artisticechoes and in FIVEPoetry. Shortlisted two years in a row for the Erbacce Prize.
sex poem twisted in infinity like white heat through a butterfly wing there will be fire at the end of days he says but right now i have grass growing through me right now i have teeth and tiny specks of crimson popping under my fine china skin he says there will be fire at the end of days milk, honey and the perfume of your neck at the dawning of the day, a dimming of the light we walked where the dew hung like punctuation on the whispers of grass as the sun slowly won its pyrrhic victory the little lamb begun to gleam its guts not long spilt by the invaders already a crow, perhaps a rook or a raven pecked through the glistening blemish of offal, wrestling with a tendon, a slippery eel of intestine an eye, as at a scandinavian feast, became the prized morsel i turned to look at you then, my child broken, for this is life and we must live it words in the silk Upon the maudlin coccolith we broke apart Yes, across needles god built us a bridge Shimmering vertebrae, silver, gold Don’t look down! Don’t look down! Between the discs is the beautiful ocean Through complex squint and spray, the deep dark And he, a spectral ladder - cast mithril locks our way And oh! Did we climb and clamber To feel his warm despair between our skins
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
keep yourself warm (15/05/2018)
crown shyness (24/04/2018)
it is a sphere (18/04/2018)
the fawn (28/03/2018)
a new anhedonia (20/03/2018)
he must be full by now (12/03/2018)
tabitha and the lawn (06/03/2018)
dramamine blues (22/02/2018)
seventeen children (15/02/2018)
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