Ben Smith

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  A Review by Catfish McDaris

Horror Sleaze Trash

by Ben John Smith

Horror Sleaze Trash is beautifully done 110 page hardcover book of poems by Ben John Smith. Simply put it is a loaded bazooka that fits nicely in your hands and fires round after round, guaranteed to knock down anything that moves. Ben is from Melbourne Australia, so his writing gives an insight into his country. He works construction, drinks with his mates, is true to his woman, and likes Elvis Presley. Ben runs one of the top “anything goes” on line literary and art zones at horrorsleazetrash.com. The poems in Horror Sleaze Trash, his second hard bound collection are each a bit different examining life under a poetic microscope and exposing it in many brilliant ways. In “Chump” the poem has a poet explaining to his woman (as all poets must do at some time with their loved ones) why most of his non-writing work mates won’t buy his books, but will blow loads of cash on drink and horse races. At the end of this poem he ends up sitting in the rain with a kangaroo with a broken leg until the cops show up to shoot it. Sadness made its debut in this poem, but there are plenty of happy ones and head shakers also. Words of too much drink, old men described perfectly, vaginas, sweaty dicks, folks going to church, Henry Miller, a black fella with lice, a dude that shits like a drainpipe in a thunderstorm. Ben John Smith writes as all educated men do or as Gary Snyder said “deeducated” which is uncivilized and barbaric. He’s well read and influences of Bukowski, the Beatniks, Travis Bickle, Joseph Conrad, and Galatians from the Bible appear, but Ben’s got an original voice and shows no fear. In “Foreskin” he compares a bulldog on ice cream to sticking his dick in a beer bottle. Included are three poems titled “Shaving My Balls Pt.1, 2, 3” and they end in a query to askjeeves.com about what to do about itching testicles. Australian English is a bit different from American English, which is refreshing and makes this book that much better. The slick cover by (ths) is the nicely shaped rear view of a near nude lady before a wall of graffiti. There’s a cool photo of Ben at end of the book standing in front of the Liberated X Bookshop and ladies, he’s easy on the eyes. I wholeheartedly recommend buying this book, you won’t be sorry.

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Purchase Information:

www.horrorsleazetrash.com

Ben John Smith

PO Box 806

Tullamarine, 3049

Victoria,

AUSTRALIA

ISBN 978-1-4467-1427-0

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Hey Guido mate,

Ahh thats a shame about . . . 

but anyway love yr blogo

I have attached an image, if its okay let me know.

below are 4 poems from the book. Ben

Sea Shells in my Shit

It's my sister's going away party.

I eat a handful of sea shells

from a bottle on top of the toilet.

I want something to remind me of her.

I was drunk

and they were only very

small

but each mouthful

hurt my throat.

I swallowed them one at a time

very drunk,

half-expecting to vomit them up.

But I didn’t.

For the next few days I shit sea shells.

Thinking of her

when I stare at my turd.

Beautiful

spiral and round sea shells

floating in my shit,

like an island on the beach.

I sneak outside and have a cigarette.

Life always turns out

the way it should.

---

Hear What You Want to Hear

Deliberating another bottle

of wine

I ask her if we

can sleep in tomorrow

as late as possible.

She wakes up

from her sleep on the couch

and says,

“Somewhere over the rainbow?”

It's playing on the

television.

I say,

“What, you mean

like the song?”

"Yeah,"

she says,

"something like that."

Then,

the bottle cracks

like a roar

of quiet

thunder.

---

My Monroe

She doesn’t want

what she's

got.

Doesn't want

to just stand there

and look

smoking hot.

Doesn't want to be

a wallflower.

Not just a pretty face.

She tells me this

while I sit on the couch

and sip at

another beer.

Probably the 13th

for the night.

I say,

“So you want me to

be like Bruce Willis

in Unbreakable?”

Pretending like

I'm anything more

than a bloke with a

shit head

and dreams of

being

remembered.

It's the beer talking

and I'm being

a little too honest

about it all.

We have a big fight

and

she smashes a glass.

In the morning we

cuddle

in a rainbow-sheeted

bed.

And I tell her

I think she

is just like Monroe.

I put my hands

into her silk

underpants

and tell her

she has a

pretty pussy.

She laughs and

tells me to write

an extremely

sad poem

and end

with those words.

She has

such a very

pretty pussy.

---

War Pig

War was perhaps

the best thing

to happen in this world.

It killed the falseness,

the pretence,

the immaturity

of love

in the modern sense.

In the sense without war.

It gave passion and

purpose,

and shadowed all the other

madness

of first dates and

“get me a chicken

sandwich”

quarrels.

It made

love worthwhile,

not the fickle

and intangible

show bag

it is today.

I wish war was

more plentiful.

It gave us

genuine life,

in all of its

death.

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BIO: Ben John Smith is a melbourne based dude 

who wants to break into the world of horror and porn, 

he pretends like he is a genius.   

His blog is found here - www.horrorsleazetrash.blogspot.com

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