You paint the loud air before you,
Goldbasking cock-of-the-rock!

Gloomy verdure crashes behind,
Blank waves of night green and

Flashes of a paler, twilit blue.
In the heavy, turbulent air of the

Intervening space, lily-white
And hot-pink orchids hang,

Alien and spiritual, pushing the
Darkness further back into its

Thrumming, restless variance.
You are a statue of purest colour.

Your dark body seems a slight,
Useless slough, hanging from a

Great broken ray of orange. It
Is as if a spume of magma bore

Shapelessly up into the jungle
Air. Within this fearsome light-

Work, your eye hangs as a lone
White cinder before a firestorm.

Owen Lucas is a British writer living in Norwalk, Connecticut. As a student at Goldsmiths College in London, he was taught poetry by Anthony Joseph and Jack Underwood, among others, and started to produce his own work. A close association with members of what became the Clinic arts and poetry collective lead to readings across London and to his first publication. Since moving to the United States, he has featured in numerous British and American journals and poetry reviews. In September, Mountain Tales Press will publish his first chapbook, entitled Afterworks.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 321

  1. Pingback: Eunoia Review | owen lucas

  2. mikerol says:

    Overwrought and definitely trying too hard to write pretty poetry! Not my cup of tea.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.