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] => 2020-08-25 10:29:28
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2020-08-25 10:29:28
    [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 Sutton lives in Hampshire, where she is studying towards an MA in Creative Writing with the Open University. She has been published in Poetry Birmingham Literary Journal, The Cardiff Review, Mookychick, and The Female Spectator, amongst others. She was commended in the 2019 Winchester Poetry Prize; won the 2019 Pre-Raphaelite Society poetry competition; and has been a winner of several Young Poets Network challenges. Her debut chapbook is forthcoming from Nightingale & Sparrow.

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 and the third Bloodaxe Archive challenge, The Re-Re-Re-Drafting Challenge. 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. She is the third-prize winner of the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge and August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.

Ellora is commended in the first, second and fourth Bloodaxe Archive challenges, The Poetics of the Archive, White Space and Take Note; the 2019 and 2020 poetry translation challenges with Modern Poetry in Translation; 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.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18987
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Ellora Sutton
    [slug] => ellora-sutton
    [content] => Ellora Sutton lives in Hampshire, where she is studying towards an MA in Creative Writing with the Open University. She has been published in Poetry Birmingham Literary Journal, The Cardiff Review, Mookychick, and The Female Spectator, amongst others. She was commended in the 2019 Winchester Poetry Prize; won the 2019 Pre-Raphaelite Society poetry competition; and has been a winner of several Young Poets Network challenges. Her debut chapbook is forthcoming from Nightingale & Sparrow.

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 and the third Bloodaxe Archive challenge, The Re-Re-Re-Drafting Challenge. 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. She is the third-prize winner of the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge and August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.

Ellora is commended in the first, second and fourth Bloodaxe Archive challenges, The Poetics of the Archive, White Space and Take Note; the 2019 and 2020 poetry translation challenges with Modern Poetry in Translation; 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.
)

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