I have published two full poetry collections, and am still working on the others.
It’s a funny old business; publishers come and go – I’ve even had them go under after the contracts are signed. Others bring out such shoddy little drecks, I’ve had to pass.
A labour of love is my unpublished collection ‘The Hospital’, which I am still touting around.
The Red Book
ISBN 978-1905599301
Paperback – 75 pages
Published by Leaf Books 2007
A ten-year diary, ‘The Red Book’ recounts lost days of adolescent encounters, dream fables and the gauche lives between lovers.
Bringing together many poems previously published in anthologies and small-press magazines, it includes ‘The Re-Birth Remembered’ which was a winner in the Faber & Faber/Ottakars National Poetry Competition 1998.
Ben Barton’s first full-length work, ‘The Red Book’ is a wry yet uplifting read.
‘One of Britain’s most promising young poets’ – 3Lights
‘An impressive debut’ – Book of the Month, The Poetry Kit
‘Ben Barton clearly has talent’ – The Frogmore Papers
‘Some of these poems will stay with you forever’ – Readers’ Review
‘Extremely good: spare, funny and sad, with a lovely whiff of eroticism’ – Here Now
‘A major talent’ – Open Wide Magazine
-
The Re-Birth Remembered
-
The forgotten birth after me,
a pair
was my twin
Ignored; they stared at me
but not him
Wail and distress
I moved with
the splashed white
But he never
My fingers twitched
He was still
I was bathed
but he was shut away
In the morgue
Blue
Remember me, my brother too,
a pair
Like the midwife did
when she smiled
But he never smiled
He never did
I was wrapped in the
white shawl
He was wrapped in the
white coffin and sunk
While I rose
Remember us. -
Infamy
-
It’s taking its toll, I’m beginning to feel
That life is too short, too nose to the wheel
And I feel like Winona strolling the mall.
But I wear the brightest smile of them all. -
Commandment No. 5
-
My father is a stranger to me
He never turns-up uninvited
Sitting cautiously on the sofa
Genteel
He waits – never asks
for a mug of tea.
My father hasn’t always been
This stranger in my life
We were close, once
He organised my life, an official referee
Strict
He holds my gaze, unsure
if he loves me...
drop, anchor
ISBN 978-1-906588-18-2
Paperback – 25 pages
Published by the Erbacce Press 2008
‘drop, anchor’ is a selection of 21 dirtily beautiful and thought-provoking poems that the author had previously held back from publication.
Picked-up by the Liverpool-based Erbacce Press, this chapbook explores bad sex, public transport peeping toms and modern masculinity.
Honest and blunt, ‘drop, anchor’ is another coup from “one of Britain’s most promising young poets”.
‘From ecstatic bliss to pulsing desire and bitterness... these poems resonate’ – Chroma
‘An impressive range... I was naughtily aroused’ – Sphinx
-
The Landlords
-
think they have power over me
constantly
waving the rentbook like it’s
the oracle
My name
ringed with red marker
crossed-out
Five Fridays in a row
they have knocked and knocked
splintering the door frame
shouting through the letterbox
each occasion a different time
their attempt, I guess
to catch me unawares.
So now
we sit in silence, smoking
pacing through the halls
contemplating rooms
on tiptoes,
too scared, even
to piss
in the centre
of the bowl. -
On The Morning Bus
-
I like to watch the men’s crotches
bobbing with the tarmac bumps
On the long journeys, if you’re lucky
and the vibrations good
you can watch a riser –
cock pressing against denim
arching up,
reaching for Eros.
I always sit back, wet lipped,
watching them packing it
their sleepy eyes
drifting into
amatory
memories. -
Neon
-
Yesterday I felt alive
Ten thousand sparklers went off in my head
from dawn to dusk and in my bed
White knuckles
I love you for that
and for making me feel
Fantastic to be beautiful again.
Yesterday all my tipsy dreams
Came alive and danced, venerated
in some mashed-up Mardis Gras.
Yes I was alive
I was neon.
Anthologies
You can read individual poems and fragments in several anthologies. Many are taken from works-in-progress or abandoned projects.
-
Locker Room Adonis
-
Two dozen gods stood, naked
in full stone
I’d never been so glad
to be excluded, to just
be among them
unnoticed
I turned away
and melted into the corner
not wanting to expose my dick,
still unripe
I never once looked directly
NEVER
images flashed-in
from my peripheral vision
black patches, toned lines
the nether V
all left to my imaginings and musings
set to re-emerge in the dark
that boy
he was my Zeus
a force of fire
acid tongue and gargantuan cock
a deadly double dose
At night I lay ready
for him, pouring
myself out in libation
offering him
the sweetest part of me. -
Last Sunday
-
I spent the afternoon
lying to Christians
in a musty church hall
taking sips of cheap coffee
from melamine cups, while
misplaced questions
were fired at me.
In my altered state
I poured out insincerity,
enjoying every minute.
And during our half-baked communion
I signed-up to God
So perhaps he is watching me
ready now
To strike me dead. -
The Row
-
Coarse phrases of endearment,
perhaps – or deep-cutting insults
dredged from murky fountains
of wisdom. Every word you throw
at me, you chip, chip
Chip away another fragment, another
piece of me comes crashing
to the floor, until one day
Soon, you will have smoothed
me out. I’ll be stood there
as still as Mrs Lot
pale alabaster.
A stalactite.
links
The Red Book / drop, anchor / Razzamatazz / Gay City One / Sanctified / Queer collection Prose poetry / Coffee Chocolate Various / Scriptor 2