stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 20110
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2019-06-28 09:20:59
    [post_date_gmt] => 2019-06-28 09:20:59
    [post_content] => laying in a bed of forget-me-nots and wild garlic
all Ophelia       all bone and froth, you know, the way they paint girls
            I saw a dolphin arc over the moon, that great voluptuous croak
                        (I kid you not)
and then I looked around and

                        I was laying on the moon, and it was
an origami of sugar paper, the kind you use in school to make posters
              each molar a factoid about dental hygiene        okay okay
I admit, I had gone a bit owl-and-the-pussycat, all hey-diddle-diddle

the way the moon makes my cells all dust-like the skin of centuries frosting the tomb of Tutankhamun or a pebble scattered in the sand of other used-to-be-pebbles, used-to-be-boulders
            I skimmed the moon like a pebble
the sky’s mackerel scales rippled to flesh, sweltered, weltered, melted away like fat

I think the moon might be a bit drunk, you know, trainwreck sequin, not all there,
     the crests of the waves rush to prop her up, her squad, her handmaids

look at the hell she has put me through, holding the broken glass of world-light up to my throat, threatening as a blank page glowing its lack of words                that antiquated harlot 

            I met the moon in a nightclub bathroom
we swore a blood oath to share our magics    or our lipstick, I forget which
                                                   (or maybe it was both)

how I howled as I watched her get gulped down the drain swallowed up by a puddle and sprayed, scattered, decimated by a sports car                              she left me

alone, in the dark, in the harsh scouring light of day    a pale scar against the vast blue,
                             alone

            just girl, just moon-bathed and animal
            just Alice, starry for her albino rabbit hole, little bit lost like we are all lost

when we look up at the moon
    [post_title] => lunacy
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => lunacy
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2019-10-18 10:12:21
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-10-18 10:12:21
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=20110
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2019
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the moon challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN), judged by Nii Parkes.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Moon challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 18987
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Ellora Sutton
            [slug] => ellora-sutton
            [content] => Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems. Ellora is also the second-prize winner in August challenge #4 on the poetics of interrogation, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Kara Jackson in 2019.

Ellora is commended in: the 2019 poetry translation challenge with Modern Poetry in Translation, judged by Clare Pollard; the Mary Wollstonecraft challenge, written and judged by Bee Rowlatt of the Mary on the Green campaign; the moon poetry challenge, judged by Nii Parkes; the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; the Bletchley Park challenge, judged by So Mayer; the W. S. Graham challenge judged by Rachael Boast as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.

Her work has been published by The Cardiff Review, Blue Marble Review and Nightingale & Sparrow among others. She was commended in the Winchester Poetry Prize.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18987
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Ellora Sutton
    [slug] => ellora-sutton
    [content] => Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems. Ellora is also the second-prize winner in August challenge #4 on the poetics of interrogation, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Kara Jackson in 2019.

Ellora is commended in: the 2019 poetry translation challenge with Modern Poetry in Translation, judged by Clare Pollard; the Mary Wollstonecraft challenge, written and judged by Bee Rowlatt of the Mary on the Green campaign; the moon poetry challenge, judged by Nii Parkes; the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; the Bletchley Park challenge, judged by So Mayer; the W. S. Graham challenge judged by Rachael Boast as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.

Her work has been published by The Cardiff Review, Blue Marble Review and Nightingale & Sparrow among others. She was commended in the Winchester Poetry Prize.
)

lunacy

Ellora Sutton

laying in a bed of forget-me-nots and wild garlic
all Ophelia       all bone and froth, you know, the way they paint girls
            I saw a dolphin arc over the moon, that great voluptuous croak
                        (I kid you not)
and then I looked around and

                        I was laying on the moon, and it was
an origami of sugar paper, the kind you use in school to make posters
              each molar a factoid about dental hygiene        okay okay
I admit, I had gone a bit owl-and-the-pussycat, all hey-diddle-diddle

the way the moon makes my cells all dust-like the skin of centuries frosting the tomb of Tutankhamun or a pebble scattered in the sand of other used-to-be-pebbles, used-to-be-boulders
            I skimmed the moon like a pebble
the sky’s mackerel scales rippled to flesh, sweltered, weltered, melted away like fat

I think the moon might be a bit drunk, you know, trainwreck sequin, not all there,
     the crests of the waves rush to prop her up, her squad, her handmaids

look at the hell she has put me through, holding the broken glass of world-light up to my throat, threatening as a blank page glowing its lack of words                that antiquated harlot 

            I met the moon in a nightclub bathroom
we swore a blood oath to share our magics    or our lipstick, I forget which
                                                   (or maybe it was both)

how I howled as I watched her get gulped down the drain swallowed up by a puddle and sprayed, scattered, decimated by a sports car                              she left me

alone, in the dark, in the harsh scouring light of day    a pale scar against the vast blue,
                             alone

            just girl, just moon-bathed and animal
            just Alice, starry for her albino rabbit hole, little bit lost like we are all lost

when we look up at the moon