Creative Writing
Original Poetry
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Constantine Blintzios


I listened


Recorded Sounds

Of solar wind

Like the ‘thud’ of clubbed seals

In cave water:

Microphones knocked against thigh and rib


Undergrowth howled 

Through a voyager

Sent out in the 70s


“It sounds like they’ve spun off their orbit”, she said

When I thought I’d found Orpheus

The soil in my earphones

Was a fossilised scream,

Dialogue caught,

            In a cobweb,

                       Of sculpture,

Her face made a shape

Like the shape inside me

That doesn’t quite fit

Cheekbones told me

Of something in the water,

Every ripple calmed,

My hair uncoiled,

Shape erect:


‘The loner plays wolf-notes,’ I thought.

His lyre must be here somewhere,

Tangled and cracked

In this recording

Of light

That dies in our eyes

In this ash-smeared archetype

Where fishermen

Chase hours lit by

Marlboros between everything they know

Speckled maps carve out the sky

Into a high-wire,

Strung between

Tartarus and the ceiling.

His lyre must be buried here

With other parts of him,

That couldn’t hold a note…




Goat-song in every seashell

My grandmother had one on her table

As a child,

I’d pick it up like a telephone receiver

My being hung – gibbon-thin

Winds as sharp as whale-bone harpoons

Combed through my hair,

Pieces of electricity whispered:

‘The gods

           were always


                                   lit by no one.’

I nodded and put the shell back down.



Each planet is a rimmed


An earring

In layers of wool

When I first listened,

It was like opening up a vacuum cleaner,

Life’s ruins spilled


Sung through the dust:

Pluto spoke as if he were helping me reattach

Orpheus’s dismembered parts

That sang:

“The river receded

When my murderers


To wash my blood from their hands”



NASA’s Recordings

Of planets

Screaming the blues

Came about

When I watched

An interesting episode

Like a poem;

Actor looked into

Eyes of actress

To say

Her soul

Was found

In sand-rings of Saturn:

He played NASA’s recordings


Her pupils expand out of the frame

I knew then, this was a burial ground:


Pluto’s whispers

Pushed inwards

Collapsing my ribs into wings

Sunlight flooded over my bones

Skewered my brain through seashell –

Winds behind my heart


Wolves stopped eating me

Alpha glanced at Omega,

Through the corner

           Of a tear

                      He bowed.



Constantine Blintzios is studying for an M.St in Creative Writing at Kellogg College.