Month: June 2016

Eleven, plus by Keith Hutson


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for Freddie ‘Parrot-Face’ Davies

In retrospect, to wear a bowler hat
so low his ears bent double, then displace
each S by blowing raspberries, was not
Oscar material but, in the days
when train-impersonators hadn’t yet
been shunted off, nor musclemen in trunks
with organ music, Freddie’s speech defect
could fill a seaside theatre’s summer months.

I loved that man, unaware my laughter
led my best friend’s gifted younger sister,
who read Brontë, to believe I was backward,
until I asked her to go out with me
years afterwards, and she didn’t say no,
just looked appalled before responding You?

(previously published in Prole Magazine)

Keith Hutson has written for Coronation Street and household-name comedians. Since 2014, he has had over 40 poems published, mostly funny ones, in journals including The Rialto, Stand, Magma, The North, Prole, Poetry Salzburg, The Interpreter’s House. He’s also won a Poetry Business Yorkshire Prize.

 

The Homeless Poem by Peter Higgins


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This time last year I was a tramp
My home the doorway of a stamp-
-shop on London’s finest street, the Strand
A grand address that was not grand.
Inside a sleeping bag I slept, above a heating vent I crept
At night (and yes, some nights, I wept).

I treasured most a Starbucks cup
Which as the day wore on, filled up
With coins thrown by a generous few
(The generous few perhaps who knew
Of how there’s but the finest line
Between their cosy lives and mine).

But once, I heard somebody say:
“Think twice before you give away
Your hard-earned cash to one who begs
Who is so clearly of the dregs.
He’ll only spend your cash on drink
And drugs. Please, stop, and think.”

I often wondered what they thought
I should have gone ahead and bought
Instead? Boxed-sets? Some scented candles?
A set of luggage with monogrammed handles?
Perhaps – and this would be a corker –
A year’s subscription to the New Yorker?

And then one night, a revelation
As I peed in King’s Cross Station
And got smartly moved on by
A Tesco store detective, I
Said – wait, unhand me, please
I’m here to purchase one of these.
I’ve had my fill of getting blotto!
Give me a ticket for the lotto.
But that’s another story…

Now, as I walk down London’s Strand
Jangling loose change in my hand
Ready to drop it in a Starbucks cup
That’s slowly, slowly, filling up
I might just pause awhile, and muse:
Should I begrudge this man his booze?

His heroin, his coke, his speed,
Whatever substance meets the need?
For half an hour or so at least
A can of Special Brew’s a feast.
Loose change drops easily enough
But picking up the stuff? That’s tough.

Peter Higgins was born in Yorkshire and now lives in London.  His short stories have appeared in various anthologies and magazines, and he appears regularly at LondonVille Lit (South London’s finest spoken-word event).

 

Poo Stick Parade by Heather Wastie


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Striders, stragglers
Dog poo wardens
Pointer-outers
Puddle patrols
Sloshers, stampers
Tottering slitherers
Towpath tramplers
with Nordic poles

Herded hubbub
That’ll do! Come by!
Chatter pack therapy
Out with shouts
Three wide, ten deep
Clogging up the airwaves
Peace churned up
by regimented nature-loving louts!

Poet, singer, songwriter and actor Heather Wastie is The Worcestershire Poet Laureate 2015/16. In 2013 she was Writer in Residence at the Museum of Carpet, Kidderminster. She has published four illustrated poetry collections and has a busy schedule of commissions and performances.

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Hornythology by Neil Laurenson


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The lesson would have gone well
If they had at least learned how to spell
Ornithology
Or so he thought.
He’d brought thirty dictionaries
And asked them to look up the word
Which they did
Online
And as well as words about birds
They found images
Of robins, sparrows
And great tits.

Neil Laurenson has read at the Wenlock Poetry Festival and Ledbury Poetry Festival and will be reading at The Quiet Compere at Worcestershire Lit Fest event in Worcester in June. His debut pamphlet, Exclamation Marx!, was published by Silhouette Press in May.

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Uncle Phil by Tom McColl


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I was throwing darts
at the dartboard
pinned to a wardrobe
at my Uncle Phil’s.

Uncle Phil came in.
He wasn’t really my uncle,
but then he wasn’t really a dartboard either,
and when he said
I’m just getting something from the wardrobe,
and had his back to me
as he opened the wardrobe door,
I threw the dart.

How he yowled
as I hit the bullseye
right between the shoulder blades.

I was five,
and I’ve never felt so alive
before or since
as when I heard that dull thud
and saw my mum’s friend –
my fake uncle –
wince.

Thomas McColl has had poems published in magazines such as Envoi, Rising, Iota and Ink, Sweat and Tears, and his first full collection of poetry, Being With Me Will Help You Learn, is out now from Listen Softly London Press.

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Mea Culpa by Mark Mayes


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As his forehead met my nose,
causing it to explode
into a cascade of blood and snot,
I wondered what his childhood had been like,
and the precise nature of his family’s dysfunction.

As his size-ten DM’s crunched into my bollocks
at an equally disconcerting speed,
I bemoaned his lack of life chances,
and the undiagnosed dyslexia,
which had so sorely troubled him.

When, having whipped out his Stanley,
he proceeded to inscribe a map
of the Scilly Isles – on my neck,
I blamed the NHS for not proactively
offering him counselling
at a more formative age.

Finally, as he stamped rhythmically on my spine,
chanting ‘Bastard’ all the while,
it dawned on me
that he was the real victim here,
and I had no right to complain,
if anything, I was to blame,
for in me he saw the cause,
the cause of all his pain.

My Home Counties’ vowel sounds
had put him out of joint;
plus the unpardonable act
of spilling his pint.

(originally published in The Interpreter’s House)

Mark Mayes has published poems in various magazines, including: The Interpreter’s House, Ink Sweat & Tears, Staple, The Reader, The Shop, and Fire, and has had work broadcast on BBC Radio. He has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize.

 

The Bra by Mab Jones


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The bra was invented
In two places
Simultaneously.
By Herminie Cadolle in France
And Mary Jacob in America.
Both sprang up in
The two countries
Almost instantaneously.
Twin buds of an idea,
Fleshed out and
Eventually ripening.
But no-one really knows
Who is the true
Discoverer.
Though one of them,
Like the things they cup,
Is bigger
Than the otherer.

(Originally published in Poor Queen, Burning Eye Books, 2014)

Mab Jones has read her work all over the UK, in the US, Japan, France, and Ireland, and on BBC Radio 4. She runs International Dylan Thomas Day, writes for the New York Times, and recently won the Geoff Stevens Memorial Poetry Prize.

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A Gentleman’s Guide to a Comfortable Life by Simon Williams


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Wear a utility belt.
This avoids scrubbing holes
in your pockets with loose change
and inadvertently washing
phone numbers, first drafts and £10 notes
to lint.

Never take on anyone else’s fish.

Learn about cars
but also find a reliable garage
and join the RAC.

Buy cheap crap from China.

Own several pairs of trousers
and change them regularly.

Pre-heat the bathroom and
check towels before showering.

Own a Swiss Army Knife
or failing that
a smartphone with a compass app.

Grouchy is a respectable standpoint to work from.

Back up your stuff.

Perfect the appearance of being busy;
never be caught writing poems.

Simon Williams has six published collections. He latest pamphlet, Spotting Capybaras in the Work of Mac Chagall, launched in April and his next full collection, Inti, will be out later this year. Simon was elected The Bard of Exeter in 2013 and founded the large-format magazine, The Broadsheet. He makes a living as a journalist.

 

Vanity by Bill Allen


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Narcissistic
painintheartistic
Fabian Beaumont-Fforbes
formerly known
as Sid Pratt
is a swine
of a swain
to his plain Jane
Elaine.
He can’t pass
a looking-glass
without a preen,
carries a spare comb
and a spray of eau
de cologne
don’t you know.
Photos of fab
Fabian
adorn his bedroom
wall, and
Elaine admires
his abs and lats,
but wonders if this
urbane
bane of dames
has a brain.

Bill Allen lives in West London and writes in retirement. Worldly wise, a wicked sense of humour, he often observes the darker aspects of life as well as the curiously funny. Likes old films, modern plays, wine mixed with a pinch of conversation. Bill has published a few poems and short stories.