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Oliver Todd

 


My name is Oliver Todd. I'm 31. I'm from West Cumbria and went to university in Liverpool before ultimately ending up in London. I was published almost ten years ago in the poetry magazine Billy Liar, whereupon I took that nod of approval and concentrated on my career as a pro-skateboarder. I wrote all the while. Then I 
started looking for that nod again.


 


Through Slow Traffic

Your pillow is a room full of ropes
louder than need.

 

 


To rain,
slide a hill off a mountain,
do the butterfly in your own blood,
crack levitation

would be easier than hearing it.

We pin things we don't like about each other
to the walls.


I have kissed tears from her face
and I want it proven -
My salt intake monitored
for a minute decrease
over the past seven months.

 



I want to feel my hair in water
because these days I move
like a police car through slow traffic


Jackpot

Arabella, when my mouth
is not my own
you are mine.


        And suddenly I hate Homer's return.


Arabella, your sister's mouth
was so close to mine
on days she followed


         and autumn had set in.


When you pointed out 
the appletree it made me
think of the redbrick of Sunnyhill


        and the colour we would move through there.


Remembering to decode
pepperwood, two words


and syrah, suddenly I love
Gawain's departure


when my feet can do my hands' work


and my heart my eyes',
the sea the sky's,


the garden fox the bee's

 

 

 

 

 

 

copyright Oliver Todd