Oskar Leonard's Blog, page 13

Irony (666)

I’ve got a bit of a funny poem from Commute for you today, regarding the unfortunate numbering choice for a catholic college’s bus. Also, I’ve been really happy with how many people have downloaded a copy of Commute already, so please feel free to grab your free copy from this page!

Irony (666)

Don’t talk to me
of irony
until you’ve bypassed
the 665
to take a sinful route
to your catholic college.

Sure, they both
go the same way–
yes, they both
end up in the same place
(otherwise, what use
is a college bus?).

Yet riding on
the 666–
it tastes of crime,
and stinks of curses
and the Devil’s armpit,
and we are teenagers.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Roundabout (EL1)

Here’s another poem from my upcoming collection, Commute! Make sure you sign up to my newsletter to get a copy in your inbox when it releases on July 1st. But, for now, you can enjoy this poem from the collection inspired by one of the buses at my university!

Roundabout (EL1)

How do you keep your smile
when all you do is go around
and around, and then around
again, from the crack of dawn
to the end of the day?

Perhaps it is leisurely;
no more than a dream,
with your fingertips drifting
from steering wheel to indicator,
then back again.

But no, not me–I couldn’t imagine
the monotony–the same roads,
trees, faces, over and over,
day on day; surely, months
must turn all into a muddy blur.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Commute Horror Show (320)

So, this is both a blog post with a poem and also a blog post with an announcement. If you head over to my Upcoming Releases page, you might notice that there is a new book on the horizon – a poetry collection called Commute! This is something that I’ve wanted to put together for a while and I’m really happy to say that it has been progressing really well (and I’ve fallen in love with the cover), so here is a poem from that collection!

Commute Horror Show (320)

5.30 AM–the bus driver has blood
on his fingertips, clutching the wheel
with an early morning death grip.

Towards the stairs–she’s wearing the skins
of her last three pet cats, still pulsing
with their final panicked breaths.

Top deck–two skeletons chatter
while puffing smoke out of mimic lungs,
staring each other down with borrowed eyes.

Backseat–between the engine’s growls,
faint screams echo through the metal:
poor souls who stayed on past the last stop.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

Commute Horror Show

So, this is both a blog post with a poem and also a blog post with an announcement. If you head over to my Upcoming Releases page, you might notice that there is a new book on the horizon – a poetry collection called Commute! This is something that I’ve wanted to put together for a while and I’m really happy to say that it has been progressing really well (and I’ve fallen in love with the cover), so here is a poem from that collection!

Commute Horror Show

5.30 AM–the bus driver has blood
on his fingertips, clutching the wheel
with an early morning death grip.

Towards the stairs–she’s wearing the skins
of her last three pet cats, still pulsing
with their final panicked breaths.

Top deck–two skeletons chatter
while puffing smoke out of mimic lungs,
staring each other down with borrowed eyes.

Backseat–between the engine’s growls,
faint screams echo through the metal:
poor souls who stayed on past the last stop.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Shadow Talk

Just a little poem inspired by the darker hours of the night and anxious thoughts today. I hope you enjoy it and, if you do, consider checking out Aleatory Poetry for some poems with similar vibes and inspirations.

Shadow TalkNever let yourself, nor your tongue,
believe the nonsense which midnight,
creeping and tip-toeing as it does,
unfurls on your mind's vagueness.

I know the dark hours intimately;
I can even name them for you, from
Jupiter to August, and I assure you,
friend, they are nothing to fear.

In themselves, also, you cannot find
the true blame for worry's acidity--
if you drenched yourself in shadows,
so many... you would share them too.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Supported Through The Storm

I’ve recently had the privilege of being able to work with Wigan Council’s Million Voices youth group to create a poem promoting foster care within Wigan. The poem used the exact words and feelings of the young people, and it was a really amazing project to be a part of. You can watch my reading of the poem here or you can read the poem below (or you could do both!). I hope you enjoy!

Supported Through The Storm

There is a storm raging outside the walls
of the house you know as home. I want
to feel comfortable enough to express myself,
with someone who understands my past.
Young hearts are wandering through surging winds
while wishing for someone to take them in,
keep them from harm, and let them be them.

Could another know your house as home?
I need someone to listen to me, without judgement;
someone who is genuinely caring and nurturing.
Could you be that consistent, reassuring presence
who can let them relax and boost their confidence?
Allow me to grow but stay close as my back-up;
push me to be better with opportunities and support.

Then perhaps you could foster. I don’t want
to feel like an outsider; I want to mean something
to you. Could you treat another like part
of your family, learning more about them
as they learn from you and form a unique bond?
I might need time to settle in, but I want to be
excited to come home to you; inspired by you.

The storm continues outside–your shelter
could be crucial to another. When the winds
begin to settle, could you help a foster child
explore the world beyond your home? I’d like
someone to help me keep in contact with family,
and let me express myself honestly and openly.
Could you be a friendly face when they need you most?

Your heart—your kindness—your choice to foster
could change an appreciative young life forever.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Freelancer

This is a poem that I wrote for TUGZ Magazine as a part of my senior creative writer role, so I’m excited to share it with you today! Freelancer, as you might’ve guessed from the title, covers the more negative, frantic and frankly stressed side of working in a freelance position, considering both the effects of the work itself and the stigma or prejudices around it. You can find it on the TUGZ Magazine website by clicking here or, if you prefer, you can simply read it below!

Freelancer

You work too much–too often–too hard…
yet these late nights all meld into one:
fingers twitching, vision shaking,
and a developing mind on the brink of collapse.

It’s not really a proper job, though…
still, what’s the difference between being
locked in a cubicle, shop, car–
and feeling trapped in your own bedroom?

At least you have plenty of free time…
but it never ends–there is no clock-out,
no brain switch-off; responsibilities writhe
in my dreams, haunting every hour of my life.

If I could work in bed, then…
then you would know the exhaustion,
the brief triumphs, the lasting anxieties,
and how nothing is ever good enough.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Intricacies Inked In Ice, Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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A Cicerone’s Poem

With the release of my upcoming dark fantasy novella, Cicerone, on the horizon, I thought I’d share a poem that fell in and out of the manuscript ever since its beginnings in 2018. I’ve been considering whether to use this particular piece in the novella or not, and how I would use it, for so long that it almost feels wrong to cast it aside, but I think it works much better as additional content rather than something contained within the pages of the novella. So, please enjoy this little accompanying poem to Cicerone, and make sure you’re subscribed to my newsletter (the form is on my homepage!) if you’d like to receive a free ebook copy of Cicerone as soon as it comes out.

A Cicerone’s Poem

Oh, cicerone, swift master
of the tongue, of the home;
how you despise those that you lead
and how you love to see them bleed
even if only in your fantasies,
my dear, sweet cicerone.

Oh, cicerone, clever master
with the eyes, with the fingers;
yet how the out-of-place one deceives you
and how her thoughts seek to destroy you
if only in terms of your sanity,
my dear, suffering cicerone.

Oh, cicerone, young master
on your feet, on your roof;
how you fly beyond the world you know
and how you join the ranks of royals now
if only in shivering dreams,
my dear, small cicerone.

Oh, cicerone, cruel master
in your mind, in your thoughts;
how you lash those irritating pests
and how you are so far above the rest
if only in false, polite silence,
my dear, budding cicerone.

Oh, cicerone, great master
of your enemy; of your denizens;
how you watch her plot crumble entirely
and how you have the aid of your city
if only for a fleeting moment,
my dear, all-powerful cicerone.

Oh, cicerone, old master
who is tired; who is weak;
how you know the truth and yet you don’t
and how you wish to simply end it all
if only between you and Vivus,
my dear, weeping cicerone.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Love Letter Penned By A Pining Princess

This poem was recently featured in the second issue of TUGZ Magazine, which you can check out here! It’s a bit of a sad one (and a bit of a long one) but I hope that you enjoy it and also check out the rest of that issue for another flash fiction piece by me and also some great fiction and non-fiction content from the other contributors.

Love Letter Penned By A Pining Princess

This choking sunlight never burned
the skin you kissed when you were here;
one street away, another cul-de-sac,
and you saved me from the sting of this–

this suffocating existence, where normal
is king, and kings have queens, and I was yours,
but all they saw were two suburban princes,
living their best lives, side-by-side.

Light never found our intimate embraces,
when flesh melded and two became one–
in the daylight, even our fingers remained
so solitarily separate, never intertwined.

They could never see our hearts; I wouldn’t,
couldn’t, let them in. We lay on manicured
grass, letting sprinklers cast their liquid jewels
onto half-clothed bodies, attempting to forget

hidden nights, hearts throbbing together,
borrowed basements, never close to our own
carbon-copy castles–friends, knights, sworn
to secrecy; you threatened one with a knife,

some promise to ruin his tongue if he ever,
ever ruined our fragile regal lives, then sobbed
onto my lap once he left us to be us, not knowing
what could have ever driven you to such a thought.

Me. I knew. Or us, to be specific, because if I
meant nothing to you, then we would be nothing
and you would have never brought your blade
to his throat, and he would have never widened

his poor, bright eyes, still caught in a trance
of laughter, rapidly becoming terror. You were
a strict prince–we were a beautiful monarchy,
but no one could know quite how beautiful.

They still don’t. The day you left, I promised myself
to never tell a soul and preserve the kingdom’s memory
of their poster child–so athletic, so smart, so normal.
I take the walk up to the school alone, now,

no longer fielding questions about you because everyone
knows you as the one who left. I count the trees
until a full sixteen lead me to the gates
and I wish I could enter them by your side again–

truthfully, you were the only one who could ever
melt the edges of this stifling world, where I
cannot be me, and we could not be us, but still
I hold a little hope in my heart that you and I,

far from this desert of languid, performative life,
will meet again, and finally become the king and queen
we ought to be; rulers of a throne of our own,
so far from these homes that cannot be our homes.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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Cicerone Extract

So… hey! It’s been a while. Not going to lie, I’ve been super busy with my work, university and also writing for various projects, so I’m just happy to be able to have the time to sit down and write this blog post for you. It’s going to be a fun little excerpt from my upcoming fantasy novella, Cicerone–a little darkness, a little mystery and a whole lot of fun (or is fun the wrong word? Haha). You can expect this release to come within this month, so stay tuned for more news! For now, I hope you enjoy this little snippet.

Cicerone ExtractRadix – Your Present

You didn’t think that it would be anything more than a normal job when you went to meet the woman off the 4.50 coach, just a mile or so from your rooms that day. Your agency boss had warned you that she was from outside the city walls, but lots of your clients were, so that made no difference to you.

However, he had failed to mention a great number of other things about her, which you noticed all too clearly when she hopped down onto the cobbled street. Her heel-less shoes tapped against the ground as she danced up to you, keeping time with the melody of the coach’s horses snorts and stamps, a smile on her lips and genuine excitement and curiosity twinkling in her almond-shaped eyes. They were highlighted by the thick black paste which ladies of high society so often loved to paint certain aspects of their faces in.

But this was no lady of high society, to be sure. You could tell that much by the way her light beige dress hung above the ankles, not close enough to the knee to be deliberate, and the fact that she was wearing a dress at all–everyone who was anyone knew that tight fitting waists and corsets accompanied by flowing sleeves and pant legs were in fashion, not the shapeless dresses of yesteryear. But you weren’t about to call her out on her terrible sense of style; you had other, far more important, matters to worry about.

‘You’re my cicerone? January?’

On any other day, you might’ve been a little perturbed by the way those eyes flew directly to you, and perhaps also by the way they maintained your unblinking gaze so unabashedly. Today, however, as you were the only other person in the vicinity and your gaze still hadn’t left the rather stoutly built woman, you forgave her, whilst idly noticing that her shoulders really didn’t work with those short sleeves at all.

‘Please–call me J, domina, everyone does.’ That much was true, at least. You let the words roll off your tongue, setting her immediately at ease with their smooth, calming nature, and a slight wave of satisfaction rolled over your mind. 

You straightened your back, removing yourself from the coach-stop pole you were standing against and placing the brass pocket watch which you had been passing from hand to hand in your pocket.

Holding out your now-free left hand, you said: ‘I believe you have an appointment on the hour. Shall we take our leave?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry for cutting it so fine–this was the first direct coach I could get.’

You reined in your tongue, not chiding her as you so wished to. Direct coaches were pointless, especially when they only left you ten minutes for a twenty minute journey–ah, well, you had dealt with worse. 

At least she was apologetic, collecting her bags quickly and still murmuring something or other under her breath when you finally began your journey to the building she needed to be at in nine minutes. Luckily, your city–oh, it was your city, your muse and your love; that was Vivus–decided to entertain your wish for movement, and aligned the streets into a form that you remembered.

Still, she could have gotten a connection and given you a little more time to work with. No matter–you hurried her along, setting off down the side of the road at a reasonable pace after she waved the coach off, even after you informed her, with little more than a mirthless chuckle, that there was really no need for her to do so. People from outside the city were so… you wanted to say uncultured, but maybe amusing would be a better term. 

In any case, there were worse ways to spend the dead hours of the morning. That you knew for sure.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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