Download PDF WET BEHIND THE EARS: Poems by Brian K. Smith

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Copyright of all poems remains with the contributors Biographical notes on contributors can be found here. Many of the poems in this issue are set, deceptively, in mundane domestic surroundings — a living room glimpsed from a train, a hallway full of boxes packed and ready for a move, a dining table with remnants of an interrupted meal, a doorstep being approached by an unwanted caller.

The poetic imaginations of — among others — Elizabeth Smither, Gareth Culshaw, Jane Frank and Stuart Handysides conjure up unsettling possibilities lying behind very ordinary doors. Elsewhere, readers will find a clutch of poems about writing poetry. This is a theme that is sometimes over-used but on this occasion we are confident that Tom Sommerville, Joan Michelson and Stuart Gunter have approached the subject with freshness and insight.

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To precede all the above, our selection begins with a piece of out and out fantasy from Ceinwen Haydon — although our readers should easily discern that this is speculative fiction with a satirical edge. We conclude with a small but important house-keeping notice. Back to poet list… Forward to next poet. Back to poet list…. Anne Ballard lives in Edinburgh.

Her poems have appeared in Acumen, Magma, Orbis, and other magazines and anthologies.

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Her pamphlet Family Division was published in Thomas Calder is an Australian based creative with a background in music, film-making and creative writing. Oliver Comins lives and works in West London. Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. He had his first collection out in by Futurecycle called The Miner. In , his second collection, called Shadows of Tryfan is released. He now lives in the Hastings area, as the Beach Bard of St. Jane Frank is a poet who lives and writes in Brisbane, Australia.


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She teaches creative writing and literary studies at Griffith University. He likes to paddle the Rockfish River and play drums in obscure rock bands. He has run the Ware Poets competition for several years. Ceinwen Haydon lives in Newcastle upon Tyne and writes short stories and poetry. She has been widely published on the web and in print. By sheer chance, in , Leeds University accepted me despite my ridiculously poor qualifications.

Constantly surprised by his ability to write poems that people enjoy, Glenn Hubbard has lived in Madrid for 31 years and has been writing poems since Though fluent in Spanish, he is poetic only in English and has had poems published in a number of magazines.

Last year one of his poems was submitted for the Forward Prize in the UK. Frances Jackson is originally from the northwest of England, but now lives in Bavaria. He attended the Hagley Writers School in Short stories in Flash Frontier.

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He lives in Cambridge, UK. Satoshi was substandard boy test crazy armchair singer But to remember childhood fantasies. And my tears fell unnoticed. You are water, cool clear water, a refreshing glass of water by my old roommate Lotus who, incidentally, hasn't gotten any hotter Now let's start anew, good fellows Choose, please, over Harry Potter Hues of sunset, pinks and yellows Or the sounds of rushing water Even chocolate and marshmallows Please: just not the same old fodder!

If the youngest son loses the gland ads If the youngest son loses the gland i hate writing essays then one day we will all join a band. Only to be left for someone with desert-dry wit. Everyone likes a little tail without holes, tasting of perfection In this act we all prevail Summer is strong O' sweet rank turtle, your baked loins envelope me O' sweet rank turtle, your baked loins envelope me and take me to a better time where i dindt mind and take me to a better time where i dindt mind I miss wisconsin And my last name is Thomspon And trumpet the coop to bleed an immaculate chorus Someone tell him to quit sexing the horse cause we is all gonna die For the Queen of Scots, Mary was her name, did come back from beyond to share her warning as heart and time fly Kittys are funny.

Bringing back lonely memories Bringing back lonely memories 'm so cold and alone, in my soul it's snowing my smile melts with confusion the ignorance you've shown, It is so hard knowing come come why you do not give me a good hard fucking it's when you bend down and tie your shoes can you take a swing without ducking? I'm tired of divorces Cheese Stop having marriages cheese is glamorous and brave, cheese i see in my own grave.

I'm the murderer who killed me Cheese in all it's might, I like to hold tight. What complimates the phasa? There oncewas a blue iguana named bart A lecherous linchipin of grave discontent fender bender where he was going i would soon find out Here we go this is are time Blue, Sparking Astral Mist Wonder why I feel this way hello?

Put that knife down! They are soft and full of sandiness time look a the size of my salami look a the size of my salami what an enormous waste of time I've remained still and deaf, hitting red buttons for white panic Listen to your heart, when he's calling for you I clashed the violins will and well , hearing ears listen to my crooked music And only that Who are we to fight? I'll never know. Bizarre I whanna bum you up the shitter I hold you like a buttercup, the petals between my hands but without proper sheeting, i'm simply a misfitter as the kitten, in the acid deftly lands as the kitten, in the acid deftly lands I slowly licked the bottom of her rosy feet gffg I love you like a sogging wet balloon cauldron Come stand with me beneath a clouded moon.

You do not believe it Now you ar 21 love is an apple clenching my butt cheeks trying not to shit my self in ammusm,ent at you covelated tales red and green, sweet and sour Bang!

Crash Boom! I eat poopy I kicked the lights through the everlasting corridor Gotta smile it keeps the tears away and hurt my toe why not who always seemed to be bore music don't jump like it used to it is a bore this is crazy this is crazy court bla bla bla poo to takarah grade 2 was the worst I fondled my hamster with glee and foetuses swirl loudly within the glass and foetuses swirl loudly within the glass I hit the sand and crawled toward the vascilating object and foetuses swirl loudly within the glass Hold the sword with an iron grip Why o why shall you die.

This one asks you to supply a first line and it provides three more. This one asks for a url and supplies a variable number of lines of blank verse obtained by rearranging some of the contents of the page.

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The one linked to from here asks you to specify up to ten words that match particular descriptions for example, "A word that sounds rude, but isn't" and generates a dozen or so lines of blank verse. And there are lots of others.

Now the question is if you use a poetry bot to generate a poem, can you claim the result as being your own work? After all, you did perform a creative act: composed a line, chose a url or specified 10 words, respectively. Andy Warhol was acclaimed for his screen print of a Campbell's soup can, one of a number of depictions of that object:How original is that?

Picasso's famous sculpture, Bull's Head, consisted simply of a bicycle seat and handlebars. I picked it up in a shiny scoop all i do is play with noise it made some noise, i stood poised not willing to stoop to that level, i go against the grain becasue im a rebel stand tall and proud i try to arouse the croud with my sound, what your looking for is hidden in the lost and found throuout the night I did fight on, my mind in perpetual, trauma. Lost and found the croud, thine should be crowd, tis just not aloud The llama, the llama, oh sweet smelling toy I am not a camel a wombat nor boy For I am a paediatrician Now really what does it matter?

OK what the heck do you want from a boulder. Catering to you and your every whim the boys rejoin the mental institution mental institution end of time That chaotic organization And no one was the wiser. And no one was the wiser. Beh is going away bbbb Ne'er to lie another day was just a bore and a whore music is healing nothing but a big fat snore purple adult spots dance across the ceiling The tip of my tounge is not sharp, But it is split into to two. Or is this world much too sublime? I am no longer in my prime, Just like a soda and lime I'm never going to take a leak again chocolate because my eye is gouged with a pen fanny pack wet drink fifty times longer than she was corduroy rumbledethumbs who in the world do you think?

Is It Poetry or Is It Verse? by John Barr | Poetry Foundation

Dont you love our humanities class? Wont you just miss this humanities class? Now ascending, now descending within the banal circle of fifths I hate math Uh oh! I didn't get anything. What am I missng? What did I remember to forget? Everything is missing. Your kisses leave me guessing Smiling Is Infectious Your kisses leave me guessing snoring is obnoxious is it just proof of life or death?