Category: MARCUS SLEASE POETRY
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Buffalo ( x8)
“Do you want to show your baby face to the world or wrap yourself in hair blankets? I think you look better wrapped in hair blankets, says Eimear.”
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HOBART
First time I have something published on Christmas Day. 3 surreal-absurd prose poems over at Hobart today. Thank you Jessica Almereyda for selecting and editing. A rarity to have an editor who pays such close attention to the work. Here is one of them. Nostalgia/not nostalgia. Tis the season. Two more surreal-absurd prose poems over…
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Bruiser
I have 3 new prose poems in Bruiser. Sheep shearing in Warrington. The Fall Guy with Hamburger Helper and Lee Majors in a trailer park in Vallejo. Goshiwon with tiny television spitting out gameshows in Seoul. Plato’s cave in Utah. Enjoy the journeys. Check out the surreal-absurd prose poems over here
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Granny Winegums
I have been finding new ways forward with various kinds of prose poetry. My new manuscript in progress, Dream Dust, is a mix of fables, serial poetry, microfictions, flash non-fiction. Maybe I’ll throw in a few flash plays. Here is a fable/prose poem. It is about Granny Winegums. American flop houses, bog butter on wheat…
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The Magic Unicorn
The unicorn is magic. I dreamed of unicorns in Istanbul. It is very ancient. The personal fork was invented by the Byzantines. Then our teeth changed. We developed the overbite. We bite off more than we can chew. This is a prose poem about the golden horn of Turkey. Also Byzantines. But really unicorns. Here…
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A Very Thin Crack
A surreal-absurd prose poem from my manuscript Dream Dust. Written while visiting southern Utah. This is called “The Narrows.”
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THE GREEN MONK IN SLOVAK
A selection of my surreal-absurd prose poems from The Green Monk has just been published in Slovak in the magazine Vertigo. Such beautiful book art. Nice to hold in the hand. The poet Vik Shirley is also in there. Happy as Larry!
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STROKING SPADES
An ongoing nomadic surrealist journey. That’s what I’ll call it. Also funk. Nomadic surrealist funk. Here is a sample from the ongoing project: Tangling Llamas on the Tresses of the Sun.
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BETSEY TROTWOOD
Great night at The Betsey Trotwood in London for Mercurius Magazine’s Surreal-Absurd feature. Our first live event with readings by Vik Shirley, Marcus Silcock, Jane Yeh, and Mark Waldron. Here is a phone recording of my reading with poems from my books The Green Monk & Rides & Tangling llamas on the Tresses of the…
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Surreal-Absurd at The Betsey Trotwood
My first public reading since 2017. Live at The Betsey Trotwood in London on 15th July. Happy as Larry to read with some stellar poets (Vik Shirley, Jane Yeh, Mark Waldron). Tickets are limited. Available over here at Eventbrite for the price of a fancy muffin (maybe): Ahead of the reading, here is a preview…
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Here comes Jerry
Here are “The Leftovers.” From my book The Green Monk. A poem about the wonder bread of Jesus. But really Jerry. His gold chain. His hardness.
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Moon Pie
Are you the stinky thinker? It is hard to not become the stinky thinker. There are so many games and we forget to play them. Pull my finger. Pull my finger. Here is a low-key reading of the prose poem “Moon Pie.”
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NAKED FREEDOM
Here is a low key reading of my prose poem “Sandals” in issue Sprung Formal 18. Perhaps my last publication as Slease.
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SPRUNG FORMAL 18
Happy as Larry to have prose poems in new issue of Sprung Formal from the Kansas City Art Institute. Beautiful art object too. Maybe my last publication as Slease. Stinky thinker alerts in South Korea. Fiestas in Sitges. I am no longer wearing socks with my sandals.
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Anthropocene Poetry
Delighted to have two new prose poems over at Anthropocene poetry magazine. After the Mormon mission, searching for new spiritualities. Fleshy and soulful. One of the poems a part elegy for my uncle Billy in Portadown. A painter.
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Fly in the Ointment
Working on new prose poems for Smashing Time manuscript. From Northern Ireland to Mormonism and Utah and beyond. Maybe it will become a novel in prose poems. Or hybrid whatever. Here is one called “Fly in the Ointment.”
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Straw Time
Another working class story. Somewhere America. Another immigrant story. But really, also, a father story. More than one father story. Identity tags, please. Northern Ireland. Belfast. Shankill. Somewhere Utah. Homeless. There are so many fathers. Too many fathers. Not enough fathers. These pyramids of fathers.
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Saint Sweat
“The soul delights in the body. When we arrived, we discovered we had never left. When we departed, we discovered we had already arrived. The soul needs a sweaty handjob. Pretty souls in sweaty flavours. Perky souls in sweaty colours.”
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SMILE TIME
A little portfolio of new prose poems at Tupelo Quarterly. Thank you Eva Heisler. It makes me happy to be among such fab company of international writing. Here is a reading of one of my prose poems. It is called “Smile Time.”
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Tupelo Quarterly
A portfolio of my poetry, from my manuscript Smashing Time, has just landed at Tupelo Quarterly. Mormon missions, pioneer days with armies of bonnets, candid camera as newly arrived immigrants in America. Fallen fathers, sick fathers, war fathers. Learning from the smiles of dead men, sure of their mission, munching on grass. Lotsa journeys in…
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Follow up to The Green Monk in Progress
On the day between the dead and the living, returning again to the beginner’s mind of creation. On the day between the dead and the living, the spirit of The Green Monk has returned to me. There are so many countries floating through me. The country of childhood is one of them. That feeling of…
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Back in the day at The Horse Hospital
Back in the day at the Horse Hospital in London versions of my poems from book Rides . . 2011 . . a different time . .
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TRAIN TO BRIGHTON
I used to write on trains. I wrote a whole book of train rides. It is called Rides. You can buy it here. It is maybe my favourite book. Here is a sample. This one is the train ride to Brighton. Forwards and backwards. It is about my mission.
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Hearts Emitting Sparks to Other Hearts in Deep Space
How is your heart. Does it spark. Here is a prose poem from my book Puppy (Beir Bua Press). Available over here.
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LOST IN SPACE
Here is a poem, recently published in New World Writing, about sex dolls, love, and The Cure. It takes place on a Friday.
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folio : twenty-eight short takes on the prose poem:
Happy to have my work in this folio of prose poems. It is an interesting one- the prose poem. Sometimes I think I will go back to line breaks, but then the prose poem pulls me back in there. The cadence of the new sentence. The space between them. But lately, more and more surreal-absurd…
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NEW WORLD WRITING
Super thrilled, after a long spell of no-gos, to have five prose poems at New World Writing. Sex dolls, rhinestones, squirrels, mojo, and a winter pouch.
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Legeia
“Are you back in your childhood, says Mandy. Back, says Charlie. There too, says Mandy. I’ve always loved my smurfs, says Mandy. The little blue people. It was hard not to chew them.”
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Waking Life
Here is a little alien poem from my book Play Yr Kardz Right (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017). The poem is called “Waking Leif.”
Never Mind the Beasts 