Simon Turner - “April is the cruellest month”

Run!  I’ll eclipse the rat-moths.

 

Hello, Mr Shirt-rat Punt-slice.

 

Spruce tail-horn melts tiles.

 

Tell Seraphim: “Cut lone shirt!”

 

Marlin curls the Piste Hotel.

 

Lutheran climes; prole shite.

 

I’ll coil the art’s sperm tune.

 

Curt Trashpeel in Miso Hell.

 

Hot lunch trill: eels, meat, lips.

 

Eliot’s cat-purse ‘n’ mirth-shell.

 

Call her in here, Strepsil-mouth.

 

Nil-clit Herostratus helper. 

 

Calipers ruin the sloth-melt. 

Lubin Tinbags

"Poetry is seeking to make not meaning, but beauty; or if you insist on misusing words, its "meaning" is of another kind, and lies in the relation to one another of lines and patterns of sound, perhaps harmonious, perhaps contrasting and clashing, which the hearer feels rather than understands, lines of sound drawn in the air which stir deep emotions which have not even a name in prose.  This needs no explaining to an audience which gets its poetry by ear.  It has neither time nor inclination to seek a prose meaning in poetry."

Basil Bunting, 'The Poet's Point of View' (1966), reprinted in Strong Words: Modern Poetry on Modern Poetry, W. N. Herbert & Matthew Hollis, eds (Newcastle: Bloodaxe, 2000): 81

Melon 'n' Dome

Lone 'n' Modem
End mole mon
Nom le Monde
London Em-O-Em
Mend no Elmo
Ne do le mm! No!