Oskar Leonard's Blog

Starlit Wishes

This week’s poem marks the twenty-ninth entry in my song-inspired series of poems! I actually have a cool little bit of trivia to go along with this week’s poem – there’s a poem, which you may have previously seen on the blog, that I wrote with the name of this week’s song inspiration, ‘Take Me With You’ by Neck Deep – and also a similar extra-terrestrial theme to the song. I’m actually not sure if the song was a subconscious inspiration for that poem, but it’s nevertheless a cool coincidence! That poem also managed to show up on the blog twice – you might have seen it here or here! But anyway, I hope you enjoy this week’s poem!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Stop And Smell The Roses, inspired by ‘Avant Gardener’ by Courtney Barnett

Starlit Wishes

Holding hands in the backseat,
stargazing at forty miles per hour
and maintaining conversation,
somehow, above biting nostalgia
through speakers that thrum,
just a little, and fill a long,
empty night with a little life.

Looking up and wondering how,
why, when someone put all those
beautiful sparks in the sky,
and who reaches up and nudges them,
one by one, until a sunrise spills
across them, and ruins the work
with a hazy masterpiece in pink.

Making a wish on a trail
that could be a smudged plane,
or a tired firework, or
a crash landing’s final sputters;
leaning against a shoulder,
wondering at how the beauty
of indigo can become grey.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Stop And Smell The Roses

This is the twenty-eighth entry in my series of song-inspired poems! This week’s poem, as you can probably tell from the title, does focus on nature, but also art, in what I think, at least, is a pretty interesting scene. It was also, of course, inspired by this week’s song, ‘Avant Gardener’ by Courtney Barnett. I hope you enjoy reading it!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Togetherness, inspired by ‘Promise (Reprise)’ by Akira Yamaoka

Stop And Smell The Roses

Don’t look at the bristles;
your eyes should follow
the footprints they make,
every shuffling step
from one inch of fibre
to the next–call them ghosts
if you want the significance
to last, or lingering remains
to appease your critical brain.

Go ahead; you’re allowed
to criticise, because my arm
connects to the hand
that owns the fingers
between which colour
is created.

I shouldn’t trivialise:
this is captured life,
after all, a snapshot
of a landscape
neither of us have seen
but we know the lines,
can quibble over how
the water truly flows;
and we both quiet
at the rosebush,
each dab of lavender,
as if they need the oxygen
more than we do.

And when I fall to my knees,
and cannot see the last stroke,
ripping through nature with a streak
of white–call it lightning,
to give it immersive meaning–
I know, at least, that you
have seen it all: complete.

If you linger too long
on the meaning of this,
or that, or simply wander
through landscape made material
yet equally immaterial,
and do not come to my side,
I forgive you;
it captured me, too.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Togetherness

For some reason, I feel like this week’s poem has a slightly different vibe to it, for lack of a better word, compared to some of the other poems in this series. It started with a rather vague concept that became more defined as I worked on it, and I hope that comes through when you read it – and that you enjoy it, of course!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Simulated Greatness, inspired by ‘Do Ya Wanna Taste It’ by Wig Wam

Togetherness

You do not need to take this ribbon
in your hands; it is already wrapped,
tight, around your fingers, a concept
so vaguely familiar that noticing it
is not a shock, but something reminiscent
of a memory: a confirmation of a whisper.

Look at it, at how it twists around
your skin, carving knuckle from knuckle,
nail from nail, and then: observe, onwards.

Vibrations, every shaking one of them,
become figures entangled in the mess
that brings us, bristling, together,
baring teeth and yanking on the line
in the hopes that the next will be toppled.

You can only see so far, after all:
you can imagine more, but the one in front
and the one behind are all that’s concrete.

Blood is escaping from your flesh–
has been escaping, all this time, but
it is only now, that you’ve noticed,
that you find the breath to panic.

Is that buzzing a warning siren
from your capillaries–is it, perhaps,
psychosomatic? Does it matter, now?

They know you’re here, and they know
you are between them. Now, that precious
and oh-so-precarious pause lives, and waits.

Tremors still, as their eyes adjust
and your fingers shake, and the ribbon–

tightens. There is a tug,
but is it you?

Bare your teeth and snarl, soldier;

your war has been chosen for you.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Simulated Greatness

This is the twenty-sixth entry in my series of song-inspired poems! With this one, a couple of lines of inspiration came together (including this week’s song, ‘Do Ya Wanna Taste It’ by Wig Wam, of course) and I’m pretty proud of what I ended up with, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Inescapable Endings, inspired by ‘The One’ by Elena Siegman and Kevin Sherwood

Simulated Greatness

In another world,
we hide beneath cardboard
and become legends
and fall.

In another world,
we storm the tower,
become neon folktales
and fall.

In another world,
there is another world–
we are gods without tables
and fall.

Do you know? Do you remember?
We say goodbye to blue eyes
and pat cremello for the last time,
before we fall.

And for just a moment,
the world is gold,
and your insides sing
with a trembling bitterness.

This is the best,
and the highest;
this is the worst,
because it must end.

Even if we know it is coming–
that it cannot be opened
and his lies will end in fire–
still, we walk on, hand-in-hand.

This is simulated greatness,
simulated pride, and simulated falls.
This is where it is safe to ponder
the having, or not having, of souls.

In these worlds,
we are alive, and we can reach
because it is okay to fall–
credits will catch our tears.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Inescapable Endings

We’ve made it to the twenty-fifth entry in my song-inspired poem series! This one is, I suppose, a sort of fairy tale subversion – but, I can’t lie, as well as the song that inspired it (‘The One’ by Elena Siegman and Kevin Sherwood), I did have Shrek at the forefront of my mind while writing it. Although, as you’ll see, it does take a somewhat darker turn by the end of the poem. In any case, I hope you enjoy reading this one!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: My Orchestra, inspired by ‘Soul On Fire’ by Spiritualized

Inescapable Endings

Crumbling stone and lava moats:
you know the scene, the details,
how to fill it in, from crayon
to pencils sharpened to comical points
and now pen–a graduation, of sorts–
but let us return to those twisting,
architecturally impossible peaks.

One slit window, carved
as if with unusual care,
so that her eyes can peek
out–to tease the world
waiting outside, beyond
the screaming cry
of her scaled guard.

Here, she languishes;
imagine the appearance,
and twist it with age,
depression, decay–
give centuries of isolation
a try, and see how your brow
forms a film of dust.

He arrives, his blade glinting,
or perhaps the barrel
of some automated machinery
of war–the details,
as we have discussed,
are your domain; connect
the dots, as he approaches.

Leaping over scorching lakes
and sidestepping slashes
from impossibly long talons–
or do you call them claws?–
he ascends, and she watches
as little she can, from her perch,
her heartbeat mimicking his footsteps.

And when his hand is on the door,
she imagines a slow creak,
a gasp of surprise–pleasant surprise,
I will take that detail from you–
and the slow steps that will take her
forward, into the rest of her life,
so far from this punishing eternity.

She imagines this, because the truth–
the sudden gust of ash-laden air,
the battle cry, the sprinting,
clanking, adrenaline-heavy steps–
only fulfil a story she has detested
from the first time she remembers
opening her eyes… but here we are.

I must take the pen, as he raises
his weapon of choice, and she feels
the pang of eventuality, certainty,
ending, and it is not a silent finale;
we will spare her dignity, and leave
her final moments suspended, because
the material, flesh and blood, is immaterial.

It is the feeling, the acknowledgement
that the pages, already written,
have turned, and that all she waited for,
so patiently, was little more than fantasy–
that is the hollow note upon which she dies,
far before the battle is over; it is cruel,
yes, but it must be witnessed… by you.

And now, you must remember, because she
will only breathe again within your mind.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

My Orchestra

This is the twenty-fourth poem in my song-inspired poem series, and once again we’re going down the path of memory – I think a lot of these songs, at least for me, inspire the topic of memory, even if they themselves aren’t connected to specific memories (although sometimes they might be!). It’s also more along the lines of the topic of music, which does feel suitable for this series in particular. In any case, I hope you enjoy this one!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Seeing, inspired by ‘As The World Falls Down’ by David Bowie

My Orchestra

In a college classroom, on a random day
of a random month in a random year,
I was told the difference between music
that exists, and music that doesn’t–
we do not have soundtracks to our days;
there is no orchestra following you through life.

The following moment of pause,
the preparation for another sentence,
was filled in by a chorus–its identity
has been lost to the haze of memory,
but its ironic existence remains,
as sharp and bold as the permanent marker

that danced across bathroom walls,
and intermixed between the meaningless,
the frustrated and the angry,
would be lyrics–not frequent, not always,
but enough to be remembered, in essence,
and if not bathrooms, then buses,

and if not buses, then under desks,
and painted across brick, and hiding
inside tunnels–and yes, not always,
but sometimes, and sometimes is enough–
the orchestra has to have their break–
and I am telling you it is written

only because the evidence of the brain,
what the ears have heard but could not hear,
seems so flimsy in comparison–yet still,
in those few seconds, as I wrote down notes
in a random college classroom, on a random date,
during a random hour, I thought of both

myself, my brain, and the hundreds, thousands,
unthinkable millions and billions of minds,
souls, lives, with their intricate differences,
coincidental shared experiences, and so many eyes
to see the world through, and I knew I could not
be the only one, looking over my shoulder

for my orchestra.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Seeing

Welcome to the twenty-third poem in my song-inspired series! As with a few of these poems now, I did end up writing around the topic of memory, and I think this week’s song (‘As The World Falls Down’ by David Bowie) did lead me towards that more pondering, ‘quiet’ tone, but I ended up having a bit of fun within that too, focusing on the idea of physical eyes. But anyway, I hope you enjoy this week’s poem!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Wherever You Are, inspired by ‘World War Now’ by Kreator

Seeing

How are these the same eyes,
these two? Not replaced, not switched
out for an upgraded pair,
no patches or upgrades;
they’d likely squish to the touch,
not that I’ve ever tried,
and they have learned, so much.

So much that it would feel appropriate
to see in sepia–but that was a one-time,
limited edition offer–so much that
it seems they should crinkle,
like newspaper, and rustle with every
slight breath of the wind, every blink.

And yet, there is so much left,
so much unknown, so much yet to see,
that I would not blame them for straining,
humming, vibrating and rolling in the sockets,
or whispering their requests to the ears:
we want trees, next, the biggest you’ve got,
and the response, ears to mouth:
the most we have is a flowerbed, be happy with that.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Wherever You Are

The tone of this week’s poem and the tone of this week’s song might seem to be at odds with each other, but the idea for this poem came through really strongly while I was listening to the song (‘World War Now’ by Kreator) so I hope you enjoy this one despite the contrast. Letters seem to pop up a lot in my poetry (off the top of my head, Love Letter Penned By A Pining Princess comes to mind), often the handwritten sort–they just have that poetic feeling to them, I suppose!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series:

Wherever You Are

It is not quite a butterfly,
in the same way a bullet
is not quite an omen–
too fast, bullets,
to rival ravens and cracked glass,
and this, too slow,
too inanimate, too papery,
to ever be a butterfly.

But still, as she sets it down
and takes up her needles again,
nestled between cornflower blue curtains
and the crackle of a satiated fireplace,
and the ink, looped so lovingly,
begins to dry… Well, perhaps
it believes itself to be a butterfly.

After all, it has heard tell
from within the writing bureau–
it knows to where it will fly,
as all the others do:
she only writes to one place,
now, saving her fingers
for hobbies and unconditional love.

She sends it off with a kiss,
and perhaps the trail of a tear,
entrusting it to the perils
of a home-grown, red-jacketed footsoldier,
and then the tank that stops for petrol
before arriving at the compound,
opening hours comparable to lunchtime,
and then…

Nearly lost in the sea,
nearly torn in the air,
shuffled and stained,
cold yet never alone,
creased and wrinkled;
and where does it end up?

Does it matter?

As soon as another hand,
the right hand,
grasps it, shreds the envelope,
doesn’t even spare a glance
at the carefully applied stamp–

It is tear-stained, and perhaps muddied,
but now, the condition is immaterial.

Whether on Earth, whether in the stars,
whether in the deepest pits of Hell,
lit by lakes of glowing, bubbling blood
and the glinting of pitchforks,
it will always find that hand,
surer than a bullet, softer than an omen,
and for a moment, there is no distance at all
between the cosy fireplace, the clacking
of knitting needles, the sun-bleached curtains,
and the glistening eyes following a calloused finger
as it traces every loop, every dot, every cross-kiss.

It is not quite a butterfly, but its journey
is as fluttering, often seemingly random,
and its appearance is as sweet, cherished,
even as the ink smudges, and the paper fades.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

Why’d You Have To Give Him A Name?

I think this is definitely one of the most fun poems I’ve written for this series so far – a little bizarre, too, but when the idea came into my head while listening to this week’s song (‘Freaks to the Front’ by Amyl and The Sniffers) it seemed like too much fun to pass up, so I hope you enjoy this slightly chaotic poem, featuring a rather lost and inexplicable dinosaur called Dave.

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: A Moment’s Show, inspired by ‘San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)’ by Scott McKenzie

Why’d You Have To Give Him A Name?

A palaeontologist called him Dave,
in the last breath of a joke
that was trapped in the room
when he left with his team that evening.

But inside, between computer screens
and carefully preserved remains,
two ears that did not exist
pricked up: he’d been waiting.

And now he had a name,
and with the name–inexplicably,
of course–he rose, fossil to bone,
drawing muscle particles from air.

Two ribs had been borrowed
from a close relative–
well, what is a million years
between scaled brethren?

Dave still formed, one of his toes
oddly missing, and leathery skin
not quite the same colour it had once
been–they suggested brown, and it stuck.

He saw himself in the shining,
recently sterilised countertop,
and two newly-materialised horns
cracked against the stainless steel.

With his name, Dave could fly–
not quite, but he tested the window
and found it rather smashable,
and his limbs were capable of jumping.

Landing was a different issue,
as it always is; he added some shrubbery
to the university’s damages bill,
and joined student life, evading campus security.

Even after an inconceivable period of leisure,
he took to breathing easily–this body
was a little shorter, a little slimmer,
than it had once been–but he did not remember.

No, his brain did not register such useless thoughts
as ‘remembering’ or ‘reminiscing’–he was up,
and he was moving, and his eyes took in old brick
and new concrete equally: he sought light.

Whether Dave’s somewhat mystical return to living
bypassed his predatory instincts, or whether
he was led by the scent of clumsy, two-legged prey,
cannot be said for certain–but he moved.

And somehow, perhaps continuing in his mimicry
of the university’s predominant population,
his clawed steps, unknowingly stealthy,
led Dave directly to two glistening double doors.

He had found, in his absent and infinite wisdom,
the entrance to the Student Union.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)

A Moment’s Show

I feel like I haven’t quite been able to have my usual focus on nature that often pops up in my writing recently, so I’m happy to report that this week’s poem veers directly into those cosy, comforting nature themes – with a splash of fairytale fantasy. This is the twentieth entry in my song-inspired poem series and it was inspired by ‘San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)’ by Scott McKenzie. I hope you enjoy this one!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: Living, Memory & Act, inspired by ‘Lust For Life’ by Iggy Pop

A Moment’s Show

Just there, between hedgerow
and the elderly shelter of tree;
see how the light scatters
between each leaf, formed just so,
all siblings but none twins–
and where the gold merges and fractures,
where you feel you must squint,
or hold a hand to your sun-lined forehead–
just there, mistaken for the dew,
maypole dancing with blades of grass,
with shard of petal atop their heads,
and voices too small for you to hear–
as distinct as every bee’s ‘z’–
just there, but don’t blink,
because a second is a season
for those beautiful, fragile beings–
some say, even to acknowledge them,
is to dance on a spider web tightrope
between seeing, and knowing,
and unseeing, but remembering;
yet just there, for now, they live,
and dance, and if you hold your breath,
you may watch them for a moment more.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support an author!)