Amy Blakemore – Three Poems

•   July 14 2013 // poetry   •

Three new poems by Amy Blakemore


Dirty girls

you’ll be blown down by their belief
in casting a purple shadow which may seem
crass or confrontational but you sell your ass
on the internet, what do you know?
They could be sisters except they like each other:

one draws pentacles on polaroids
and the other looks like Cat Marnell.


Turkey neck

cystic, cold as blossom,
it smells scrofulous
and of furniture polish.

Blunt beaked with no interruption
for the ear, and at the breast begins
pitted pore after little pitted pore.

There are mothers and children and these
are inevitable and for each
there’s an old woman –

she smells scrofulous
and of furniture polish.
The child pinches the skin, the little pitted pore –

and the old woman says
you’re always going to touch what you don’t want to.
It waits on the kitchen table – offensive with sea salt, sage.



Commenting on his friendship with Baudelaire,
the artist notes a mutual love of skeletons:
a crude line drawing of St Theresa
in a state of holy déshabillé,
receiving oral stimulation from a skull.

The japanese call it Ukiyo – e,
the pressure of bone within.
Obtain a time-piece, strangle the hour,
swing from life’s photogenic chandelier!


Amy Blakemore was born in London in 1991. She was named a Foyle Young Poet of the Year twice, in 2006 and 2007. Her work has appeared in The Morning Star, Magma, Brittle Star, Rising, Cadaverine, Stop/Sharpening/Your/Knives, FuseLit, Pomegranate and Bloodaxe’s Voice Recognition: 21 Poets for the 21stCentury (2009).

Amy will be reading at the clinic & Stop/Sharpening/Your/Knives event at Bold Tendencies in Peckham on Sunday 21st of July. Full details can be found here