Craig Podmore

by Horror Sleaze Trash on September 6, 2011

Craig Podmore is from Manchester, UK. Erbacce Press published his first book, I Am a Gun last year and his second collection entitled The Abattoir Heavens and The Holy Ghost back mid 2010. His material has also appeared in Gloom Cupboard, The Plebian Rag, The Scottish Poetry Review, Epic Rites, Ditch, Poetry, Danse Macabre, Calliope Nerve, Horror Sleaze Trash, Sein Und Worden, Sex and Murder Magazine, Gutter Eloquence and Fashion for Collapse. His latest full-length release published by NeoPoiesis Press, Love Notes From A Soldier’s Diary is available now. Craig is also a photographer and filmmaker.


She wants to kill god when she cums.
Broken bottles on her breasts,
Fucking Guevara in her dreams.

She’d open her own crotch for the atom bomb.
Give me the statistics of the latest massacre
So I can cut myself to it.

I read to her excerpts of the morgue report
Regarding the deaths of Goebbels’ children
So she can fantasise about their laments whilst orgasm.

Pictures of holocaust stapled to her vulva,
Bile stained, bible pages in the toilet –
The derogatory is obtained.

Personally I’d like to fuck Eve and make her purge
An apology for the fall of man but congratulate her too,
For the ruins of god’s insipid plan.

Porn Star

So violent you are.

So violently obscene.

Fucking in Cambodia,

Ejaculation in the genocide plains.

Maybe anal sex is a true picture

Of Darwinism

Whereas bourgeois orgy parties

Is a portrait of Nietzsche.

Cut the scene.

Rape the celluloid

And provide me

With the self-harm

That I deserve.

So sadistic you are.

So sadistically sick.

Sucking in Stalingrad,

An amputated soldier

Singing communist songs

As you swallow his death.

Make this fuck like a funeral,

Make this fuck like a President’s announcement for Cold War.

Make this fuck like a terrorist attack.

Make this fuck like a church burning.

Make this fuck a veil for our primal truth.

Let those mourn at our inhumanity

On a mass scale so that the animal

That is the porn star in all of us

Becomes martyred

Bonnie & Clyde: Mannequins of Our Wanton Perfection

Playing pistols with parents,

Beheading the law with the spit

Of pariah praise –


Replace heart with revolver.

Bullet hole gods,

Subterranean churches

Where we do what we want.

We don’t want to be nuclear tested

Nor piss tested, we have been trained well

To embrace the brutality of hell

With our celebrity death stained copyrights.

Cigarettes, cash and firearms

Creates immortality,

The pillage of hopes and dreams,

The rage of gunfire for those who are numbed

By the wage of fear and the pseudo righteous.

Shoot, reload the madness –

Beware of the devils,

The television insists!

We look pretty with death in our hands.

A camera, a pretty girl,

A nation stunned.

The narcissus of suburbia refrain

From masturbating

Upon an image in stained glass,

The conformed legs open for

The criminal mass.

Smell the whiskey from

The smoking chamber of a gun.

Violence is our sex toy,

A gunshot to the eye

And anal penetration

With moral panic lubrication

Maintains a wanton perfection

That of anarchy and the inflammation of control.

So, here I,

Introduce you to Bonnie & Clyde,

Messiahs of our inner animal;

Voluptuous, brutal incarnate.

Darwin eats a bullet

And claims its design

As an abstraction of man

Along with its potential to be thee holy divine.


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