Ted Bonham

Fragment (Consider Revising)


The Dance of the Maenads

If the frequency of my blogging seems to have fallen off somewhat it is mostly because I’m pretending to work on my novel. I did also manage to half finish the first spoken word thing I’ve written in about a year though…


25th March, 2010

I’m walking down the street talking to a friend when she comes up to me and tears my heart from out my chest.

I’m unsure how to respond, the situation is kind of awkward, I haven’t known this friend long and I can see that he’s rather uncomfortable as well.

I’m just about to say something, protest that she’s being too rash, when she abruptly about turns and walks away.

I restrain myself from chasing after her, my friend is still stood there and I’m worried what he’ll think of me.

An innocent man walks by, with a green coat and no dog, he gives no indication but I’m sure he knows.

I want to grab him by the collar, punch him, punch him in his stupid face until he’s bleeding and he’s lost all his teeth.

My friend suggests we stop for a coffee, I joke that I like mine like my women; strong and bitter.


I felt a funeral in my brain

An unforgivable thing to do to an Emily Dickinson poem.

I felt a funeral in my brain by TFaBSATE


Flash Fiction

He wasn’t sure how he felt about flash fiction; the only real impression that remained, burnt to his retina by the bright light of the camera flash, was the image (or only the shape) of her incredible tits as she’d lifted her top to reveal them.


Pagan Poetry

A poem constructed entirely out of Bjork song titles? Your wish is my command…

Pleasure is all mine;
it’s in our hands.
Where is the line?

Big time sensuality all neon
like pleasure is all mine.

Wanderlust, hidden place,
where is the line?

Alarm call. Play dead.
Pleasure is all mine.

Immature. Forgive me.
Where is the line?

Violently happy
like someone in love.

Pleasure is all mine.
Where is the line?



Being a Canada Dry mistranslation of Else by Kaleb Clacey (no permissions sort or gained)

A Repeated Honesty: You and I disappear
our keratin surfaces and whole temporal enchilada.
In the spaces of the present the following thirteen’s litter
grows up as ocean going birds in a slug’s den;
more than one of Them drink the packaging at the urbs’
precipice And a penetration ever present. The Thing Oozes.

Add cornflour to my confinement. Epidermis effervescence, the rug
and home made cigarettes, lunar pencil motion,
hair flotsam. Time for a mechanical cleaning system
asphyxiating our corpse (my soul, maybe) Hickory Docks
need darning, we’d enjoy a tempest setting,
bursting silver linings and repeating spines

and repeating spines. Constructive interference, voluble echoes stalk the vibration
of mechanical apparatus that stays one step- a skull protects bursting banks,
come too and halt her incessant beeping. These four are disrobed
of noise of claws in use; avian as well as rodent mammalian.
Swinging high beyond his slumber the network was kept
behind firewalls, leaked from arachnid spinneret.

It has to exist in abatement; the expulsion.
Stories for my sibling’s sorrow (small, female), pen
things down, remove her top and her bra,
it is an absence of things that makes her physicality silent, so far
and halts the transformation to additional,

till cows come home: ecstasy and the entirety of the universe.


(no title)

There seems to be a lot of pressure on a first post; I have decided to get it over with quickly like pulling a plaster off.  Thus everything that follows ought to be considered one long scab picking session.