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    [ID] => 3919
    [post_author] => 4
    [post_date] => 2015-02-06 17:19:17
    [post_date_gmt] => 2015-02-06 17:19:17
    [post_content] => …and when I fail to focus, when I tire,
he rises like a Christ newly baptised
in sky blue trunks, reminding me desire
will always lie in wait and be disguised
as men with healing hands and cute-cruel lips
and arms I’d die for should they ever press
too hard against my throat.
When water drips
from him the fish swim to his feet, confess
how happily waylaid they are, congeal
in spasmic foil and, even then, mouth how
the breeding pools upstream are no big deal.

Before my eyes bake white like theirs I vow
I’ll hit a key. Before I go berserk
I’ll kill him with one finger. Wake up. Work.
    [post_title] => Daniel Craig: The Screensaver
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => daniel-craig-the-screensaver
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2021-10-01 16:28:53
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-10-01 16:28:53
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poetrysociety.org.uk.gridhosted.co.uk/?post_type=poems&p=3919
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    [post_type] => poems
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        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => Poetry News
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2008
            [wpcf-summary-description] => Richard Goodson: "This poem was written as part of a PhD in Poetry I'm doing at Nottingham Trent University - a project in which I'm writing poems about masculinity and male sexuality. That iconic James Bond image just had to be written about! I thought it was quite a puritanically-minded sonnet with its 'Wake up. Work' finale – until I began performing it. Then I realised a large part of the audience would always be smirking with mischievous recognition!"

Eleanor Cooke, judge: "The mastery of the form – a sonnet – crept up on me as I read, the rhymes never jumping from the page, or drawing attention to themselves. The poem blends the lyricism of a love poem, with a delicate self-effacing humour. The final couplet is a splendidly managed resolution."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Winner, Stanza Poetry Competition 2008
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 3920
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Richard Goodson
            [slug] => richard-goodson
            [content] => Richard Goodson is a poet, creative writing teacher and runs The Poetry Society's Nottingham Stanza. He was winner of our 2008 Stanza Poetry Competition with 'Daniel Craig: The Screensaver', which was subsequently published in the Penguin Poetry of Sex, edited by Sophie Hannah. He co-edited Heroes: From Mum to Mandela (Five Leaves, November 2012), an anthology of young people's poems and stories. He also founded Word Jam, a collective of poets and musicians in Nottingham whose first language is not English, in February 2013.  He was Co-Director, and is now Creative Advisor.
        )

)
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    [ID] => 3920
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Richard Goodson
    [slug] => richard-goodson
    [content] => Richard Goodson is a poet, creative writing teacher and runs The Poetry Society's Nottingham Stanza. He was winner of our 2008 Stanza Poetry Competition with 'Daniel Craig: The Screensaver', which was subsequently published in the Penguin Poetry of Sex, edited by Sophie Hannah. He co-edited Heroes: From Mum to Mandela (Five Leaves, November 2012), an anthology of young people's poems and stories. He also founded Word Jam, a collective of poets and musicians in Nottingham whose first language is not English, in February 2013.  He was Co-Director, and is now Creative Advisor.
)

Daniel Craig: The Screensaver

Richard Goodson

…and when I fail to focus, when I tire,
he rises like a Christ newly baptised
in sky blue trunks, reminding me desire
will always lie in wait and be disguised
as men with healing hands and cute-cruel lips
and arms I’d die for should they ever press
too hard against my throat.
When water drips
from him the fish swim to his feet, confess
how happily waylaid they are, congeal
in spasmic foil and, even then, mouth how
the breeding pools upstream are no big deal.

Before my eyes bake white like theirs I vow
I’ll hit a key. Before I go berserk
I’ll kill him with one finger. Wake up. Work.