Ben Bones

writing & worldbuilding

Poetry Collection.

I thought it would be nice to share some poetry here. Only light stuff, nothing serious. I only do poetry once a year or so.

These are organised in chronological order, with most recent at the top.


You owe no favors!

Bite the mouth that feeds, bitch.


I believe that

although the calendar won’t stay,

the days will go on without it.

One after the other,

passing paperless and clear, flying

into the white morning sky.


He ran past cloaked in warning bird calls,

and red fur dog-shaped, fox blur,

his mouth was open and panting grin.

He ran down into the woods like something

unafraid of being seen, just so long as

he could get to a better destination:

now, and fast.

On his heels followed the storm.


Shells sing when held.

The salmon’s pink flesh whispers

as it slides into slices.

Hark, I hear them: the ancient choir of volcanic vents,

and microscopic amoeba; sharks and depths.

When you think about the end

of the world, don't you hear

the sea crashing in?

"I will inherit you", she whispers.

Blood-salty water, wine dark thighs.

Something brushes against your leg-

There could be anything in the dark below.

It's too late:

Don't you know? If you mark the undying leviathan,

if you go back to when

life on earth was absent,

before humanity's birth -

you can’t help but hear her ancient verse:

“I was here first”.


Kerosene doesn’t go up fast, but petroleum is riskier.

You ever seen a leather couch layered with oil

thrown onto a bonfire? Have you ever seen the way

it goes up like a torch, like the fire’s hungry for it.

You ever seen it slough off charred pieces, sweating smoke

and cinders, and then collapse in on itself – burned up from the skeleton out?

It burns slow. Kerosene doesn’t go up fast.

Have you ever seen something familiar and comfortable

become a candle? A lamp? A pyre?


Here's the world all wet after rain:

blinding and shining, with air so fresh it clears my head

and fills me up.

Transparent and weightless,

the last droplets fall.

And I feel the winds caress

like the downy inside of a

sky coat,

cloud jacket.


The waves break with the wind. Green swell, smooth crash,

white foam lingers in a bubbly lattice on the surface of the receding wave.

There’s a sense of something vast, only a little deeper.

The sea surface goose-pimples. the wind skidding across,

leaving pockmarks on the water-top.

Fall with the waves, melting-

Puddle water. What's the harm?

But suddenly the currents come -

the tide rises, washing you out of sight.

Drowning. You can't get back.

You'll drown out here if you don't

keep swimming. Keep your head up.

Ocean don't give a fuck if you die.

My advice: stay with the flotsam,

ocean treasures – broken glass smoothed down harmless,

shells, pebbles with veins of colour, washed up along the shallows,

salt wind, sea air,

seagulls. And look, further along,

a warm dog glowing in the sunlight,

watching the sea.


World asleep. Driving alone at night, the rain blankets everything.

Distant things become a haze, wind whispers in dark treetops,

and on the highway, the streetlights cage the road.

You coast alone, car humming quiet along under

the dark heavens.

Peaceful thief,

stealing time from tomorrow.


Black hammered out on the ink smudged page,

Block-font with thick letters, the typewriter prattles on like

the rattle buzz of a bike chain - here, listen:


Like running a fingernail along the ridges of your teeth,

like something winding up and winding back.


Campfire obsession – remember embers?

Golden sand and the sun setting, reflecting off a liquid sky

aflame? Red trees, sky, shirts, buildings-

an amber to mauve gradient

rolling hills, exaggerated shadows.

A horizon below your eye level.

Remember how the flat rippling surface,


A stone bounces, sending shimmering ripples in the slow-moving stream.

Look down into a reflection so perfect, you could reach-

reach into shattered smooth fragments shifting in rings-

rings of colour on the cold-

cold surface of the water, ankle deep-

deeper than cold:

like needles in your feet. Needles in your bones.

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