Poem
Luke Kennard
The Forms Of Despair
The Forms Of Despair
The Forms Of Despair
We returned from the war happier, arms around our shadows—Who claimed to be older than us. They told great jokes
Lay around barefoot, hair precisely
Unkempt, cigarettes hissing and glowing like christmas lights.
Only our fiancées were tired and bothersome,
Having forgotten how to love, or vice versa.
Some had moved to factories in other cities,
Others, when pressed said, ‘No-one’s forcing you to put up with me.’
We went skating with our shadows,
Huddled under the fir trees drinking sausage tea.
Inquisitive sheep collected around our camp;
It was good to be among the ice storm and the believers.
We described the funny pages to Simon—who had lost both his eyes
But the jokes didn’t work so well in description.
© 2009, Luke Kennard
From: The Migraine Hotel
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
From: The Migraine Hotel
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
Luke Kennard
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1981)
In 2007 Luke Kennard became the youngest ever poet to be shortlisted for the Forward Prize for Best Collection with The Harbour Beyond the Movie. At the time he was reported to have said “I’m on the shortlist with people I studied at A-level” (The Observer, 2007). His first collection, The Solex Brothers (Stride Books), was published in 2005, the same year he received an Eric Gregory Award from...
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Poems of Luke Kennard
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The Forms Of Despair
We returned from the war happier, arms around our shadows—Who claimed to be older than us. They told great jokes
Lay around barefoot, hair precisely
Unkempt, cigarettes hissing and glowing like christmas lights.
Only our fiancées were tired and bothersome,
Having forgotten how to love, or vice versa.
Some had moved to factories in other cities,
Others, when pressed said, ‘No-one’s forcing you to put up with me.’
We went skating with our shadows,
Huddled under the fir trees drinking sausage tea.
Inquisitive sheep collected around our camp;
It was good to be among the ice storm and the believers.
We described the funny pages to Simon—who had lost both his eyes
But the jokes didn’t work so well in description.
From: The Migraine Hotel
The Forms Of Despair
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