Monday, 25 April 2016

A poem by Antony Owen

Valentines Day for Invisible People


   (I)  Soldier

Sometimes you drift back there -
when people pluck up the courage
to ask you what it was like out there;
and you think of job centre smiles
when they mean out there, in war zones
and you think of that party at Kev’s gaff
when people fought over Miley Cyrus and if she’d gone too far.

   (II)  Refugee

Sometimes you drift back there
when Facebook Ken posts fuck off home
and meanwhile you fondle Aldi Pomegranates
knowing they are rotten inside yet people take them.
Yesterday you covered your whole body except your eyes
and everyone in the world seemed blindfolded except for children.

   (III)  Widower

Sometimes she returns to you
when Harry introduces you as Joan’s husband,
this is how you always stayed until March eighth
when Harry found you in May as a blue ship sailed
donning your medals you must have returned to Agrigento
silently thinking “fuck you Harry and your beige army of Naysayers”.

   (IV)  Poet

Some of us never returned to poetry
except the time when all of us were poets,
raising hell, or a child, or a cheap glass of plonk
and all of this was a life you wrote without words.
I have seen a thousand poets hide in the eyes of people,
extraordinary people who thought they were clichés, alas you were not.





Antony Owen was born in Coventry and raised by working class parents which has inspired some of his poetry collections by Pighog Press and Hesterglock Press. Other inspirations lay in war poetry and in 2015 Owen visited Hiroshima to interview A-bomb survivors. As a result of this trip he has been offered a full collection scheduled for publication and translation in Japan for circa Autumn 2016.

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