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Zoe Horsman Poem
We are tossed by every uneven street
And I try not to recall the ocean
In the heart of this great city-
The cobblestone! The church! The mansions! The soviet blocks!
Wordless stanzas.
Watch the ink
Scratch at half-utterances
World churning
In Grandma's kitchen
1998-
Memory please
Catch the hot wind.
I will be airborne
One day fly back to you
and patience
My virtue dies.
Billboards scream
But I have
Just
Like love, don't want.
My keyboard, the typewriter.
My hand quills
My two-lung stone slabs
Mindless etchings.
Faint anger
And the distant sound of you-
Singing?
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Zoe Horsman Poem
Three months and you're gone.
We keep up to date
Make up time lost to closed windows,
Re-open doors and
Let the light in all
At once blinded and dazed.
Make up time lost to petty fights
Closed off minds that wander, sometimes,
towards each other-
Now unrequited.
Make up time in people
Like roots, expanding,
Respirating, out-with-the-old that never
really dies because water never really runs out, but circulates
Bones. Muscle Fibre. Tendons. Joints.
Talk to that small part of yourself that remembers a piece of her
A tiny thing that never fits quite right,
Made-up time that can teach only
In hindsight
The poison of idle hope.
Pitch colours and throttled laughter.
A pain in the back of your skull that you wish was something more.
Make up time in sensation
Relive the inanimate
The comfort of its permanence.
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Zoe Horsman Poem
Your brain spilled like wine
Roots severed in gory detail
Thorn's twist around the vine,
I loved that you were not fine.
And you ate my leftovers
greedily: an apple core, a slice of salami and my chocolate cake
infantile on the couch curled, my
Caterpillar cucooned in bedcovers.
I loved that you died
by my side
Reverse birth and I knew you'd do it
I knew you'd done it when I walked
through the door
and it smelt like silk.
In the kitchen, where the hob held some sort of memory
I thought of how my red legacy spilt through
the white duvet,
And how
you could never make a fuss when I didn't stay
And how you could never really cook,
though you tried to.
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Zoe Horsman Poem
Water circulates somewhere in the US
Where rain isn't left to condense,
To well, like life leaves space for time.
I'm fanning my hands on a street in
London, Soho, where we never went
But an unplaceable conversation is in the tides of heat, one that spoke of Her.
I decided I needed something disposable -
A balloon-buoy swayed with an unease that carries -
Eyes that make mothers cross the road.
I bought one and he gave me two more, haggled, too hot to... fight. Paid, left with this in my hand.
On the bridge. Wish I had a weight.
It's a pain to hold but I don't want to watch my money sweep past Big Ben and the disgustingly scenic city scape.
Water circulates like these e-bikes.
Round the pre-plotted roads -
I think of the Romans, dead in the ground.
There's probably a few still in the Thames.
Death feels so historical.
We discovered clouds that hold rain forever.
I have everything in my pocket.
Within arms
Reach
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Zoe Horsman Poem
Hush, sand-lung devoured
Dark doorlight on these growing bones.
Her rotten soils flowered
In the firetaps of a hundred homes.
Scratching leaves of Hades
A mother wake as she sleeps
Bang of calling winter breeze
And skull, wailing, weeps.
Yet the care of sweet Persephone
Livens petal into bud.
Forgetful are flowers loved
That she forsake the plea.
In grander form the woundglow throbs
Sealed, golden napalm's artistry.
Yet wonder who we call our gods
The sweetmeat of Gaza street.
But there's the guilty purchased hearse!
Children lost to country lines
The Child lost to moving time
Steeped this blackened curse.
In sickness dawn is sour,
Life's sweetest leaving hour.
Skin's unravelling, another's observe,
Yet the clock heavy strikes the nerve.
To whom now do I serve?
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Zoe Horsman Poem
'll take your life before tells.
She She
Every tick drives in further.
It
Moangasp-
Sympathetic motion!
Numbers Arrows.
A jumble of and
Forces
Backwards....and...forwards
Forces
Watcher-watch,
Power of
Anticipation.
Refusal of release!
You
I will gut.
Spill your long strings of seconds like saliva
Drip into my mouth and make me
Digest.
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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Zoe Horsman Poem
What I want wanted
Is all that I want.
This best-selling
Recipe can be yours Too! Too!
Click this Click button download
Click Bright Sticky Red Click
Girls - girls in Calvin Klein
Thong girls, girls in pink purple
Red Red Red lace girls
Who sit silently in cars
Your windshield
Charm hitting rhythmically the wall
Chokes
Better
Judgement
Like
Victoria Secret lace going for Thirty-Five going for Thirty-Four surely no less than Thirty-Three million lives lost in sweat shops.
Shop Girls!
Sweat Girls!
Red girls in Red shops and Red cheeks
And pretty pink bits
In their pretty pink bits
All lace and want.
You want this delicate labour.
Of skin, of Cotton.
34D and it's made just for you.
This took eighteen years.
You'll find me in my panties drawer
When you like -
Our range is extraordinary.
Have you seen the peach? The clementine?
We don't really sell the pineapple, but you can take her for a spin if you're feeling a little naughty.
Wet baskets spill like the want of your beating wallet.
Copyright © Zoe Horsman | Year Posted 2026
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