Month: August 2016

The Poets and the Thief by Marc Woodward


By admin

Ten poets in a room,
some imbibing wine,
when from the back a
ruckus started.

“A thief! A thief!
he’ll rob us blind –
he’s here to steal
our work, our souls,
our sacred lines!”

“Don’t be so dramatic dear..”
another replied “..and anyway – did I really hear
‘rob us blind’? good grief, oh dear!
Don’t you think you could do better here?”

“Yes..” a third spoke up
“..and to speak of ‘soul’
is over used and meaningless,
surely you agree?”

There then followed a hubbub:
much exclamation, declamation,
formal decree
and general hullabaloo

during which

the thief slipped away
with a sack of poems
he’d craftily purloined,
but, I’m sad to say,
very few were new
or freshly coined…

Marc Woodward is a poet and musician from Devon. His writing reflects his rural surroundings and often has a macabre undercurrent. He has been published widely including at Ink, Sweat & Tears, Prole, Avis, The Jawline Review and The Poetry Society and  Guardian sites as well as in anthologies from Forward, Sentinel, OWF and Ravenshead. His recent chapbook ‘A Fright of Jays’ is available from Maquette Press.

 

Liaison by Leanne Moden


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I wait for you all afternoon; my flesh is moist with sweat.
The sheets are silk beneath me but I cannot have you yet.

You slowly slide in close to me, our splendid limbs entwined,
And though I cannot say it, I am sure our love’s divine.

My skin ignites with perfect lust and all my fears, I shed,
And as we writhe, a voice exclaims, “Hey you! Get off that bed!”

Though love’s a gorgeous, peerless thing, context is all, I fear.
Perhaps meeting in John Lewis was not the best idea…

Leanne Moden is a poet from Nottingham. She has performed all around the UK, including sets at Trinity College Cambridge, the Nottingham Poetry Festival, Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, the Cambridge Festival of Ideas, the Royal Albert Hall and Bestival on the Isle of Wight.

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Cuckoo by Mark Totterdell


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That thing that we
stuck to
your body to
track you
wherever flight
took you
was not meant to
mock you,
confuse you or
muck you
about. It’s a
trick to
plot, map you and
clock you
way south past Mo-
rocco
and in the spring
back too,
so we can say
‘look who
it is, look who,
look who
it is, cuckoo,
cuckoo!’

Mark Totterdell‘s poems have appeared widely in magazines. His collection ‘This Patter of Traces’ was published by Oversteps Books in 2014.

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Catalogues for the More Mature Woman by Sarah J Bryson


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They slide heavy through the letterbox,
sheathed in plastic film, mixed in with charity
begging letters, and Estate Agents’ boasts.

The images within their glossiness entice her;
she returns again and again to feast her eyes
on the rich-coral swing coat, the double spreads

of soft cashmere knitwear (on sale at prices
never to be repeated) and this coming season’s dresses,
skirts, and blouses, in bright cotton flower-prints

displayed on slim, un-flawed models, snapped against
sun-filled backdrops of Natural Trust beauty spots.
She turns down pages at the corner to revisit each one

to play with the idea of trying them on in her mind,
colour matching this against that, considering the cost,
and when she might wear them, knowing that the wardrobe

is full already. She tells herself she doesn’t need them.
But time passes slowly, alone so much of the time
and later she gives in to temptation. She dials

speaks to a polite girl, a quiet girl who sweet-talks her,
who calls her Mrs, respectfully, not by her first name
unbidden, and she confirms her dreams in an order,

guiltily with her credit card number, then waits those slow
days for parcels, anxiously now, already weighted
with the dread of disappointment.

Sarah J Bryson is a poet and hospice nurse. She runs occasional poetry workshops, and more regularly she works in care homes as part of a project taking poetry into residential care. Her poetry has been placed in competitions and published in anthologies, in journals and on line.

 

Road Kill by Oscar Windsor-Smith


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Oscar Windsor-Smith lives in Hertfordshire, UK. He has fooled enough editors to get fiction, creative non-fiction and non-fiction published in diverse places, in print and online, and has occasionally been falsely accused of poetry. By jammy luck he has been a finalist/shortlistee in various international competitions. He is currently seeking to underpin his sagging creative writing on the BA degree course at Birkbeck, University of London.

 

The Light Programme by Brian Johnstone


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The wireless on, that gap
as valves began to warm,
and all that met our ears
was doubled up. Innuendo
in itself said so much more
to all our fevered thoughts.

Days were stuffed with
Mr Horne, what bishops
said to actresses. ITMA’s
Can I do you now? led on
to Formby’s stick of rock,
Howard’s please yourself.

Of course we did, but not
as he implied lest Whacko!
was on hand. No! Enough
that air waves throbbed
on any frequency of filth
slipped in below the bar.

All in the mind, but we
were so inclined. There
like static, what you got
with the reception every
time you listened in or
twiddled idly at a knob.

Brian Johnstone’s work has appeared throughout Scotland, elsewhere in the UK, in North America and in Europe. He has published six collections, most recently ‘Dry Stone Work’ (Arc, 2014), and his work appears on The Poetry Archive website. His memoir ‘Double Exposure’ will be published by Saraband in 2017.

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Severn Bridge by Mark Blayney


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Driving Wales to England
there’s a windsock so you know
what the breeze is like.

Why isn’t there one
on the other side?
In a way I’m pleased

that, like me,
even a giant bridge
can lose its socks.

More embarrassing for the bridge
because its ones are bright orange and huge
I can imagine its mum, saying for goodness sake
how can you lose that?

West of the bridge
we drive through stunning earth

bracken on mountains
ice blue lakes freeze
soil compressed by blackened sky

scanning the horizon for a glimpse
of the gigantic sofa
that the sock might be behind.

Mark Blayney won the Somerset Maugham Prize for ‘Two Kinds of Silence’. His third book ‘Doppelgangers’ is available from Parthian and his first poetry collection ‘Loud music makes you drive faster’ will be published in October.

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Return to work by Sarah L Dixon


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That corridor.
The same paint-peeling door.
The same two letters.

Every time I return.

From sickness.
From holiday.
From Christmas.

Twelve attempts
of favourite pets, words and people,
a variety of years, dates
and single numerals.

I’m locked out.

The whole office
know where I’ll be
at 9.03.

At the desk of Graham
from I.T. He smiles.
He’s been expecting me.

Sarah L Dixon tours as The Quiet Compere.  She has been published in Ink, Sweat and Tears and The Interpreter’s House among others. Sarah’s inspiration comes from being by water and adventures with her five-year old, Frank.  She is still attempting to write better poetry than Frank did aged 4!

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A Stoic at Birmingham New Street by Julia D McGuinness


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“Though you break your heart, men will go on as before.”

His 18.36 to Crewe cancelled,
Marcus Aurelius noted only the illogicality
of the announcement coming through
at 18.42.

The queue for Train Information
snaked along the station
like Hannibal’s troops down a mountain pass,
spasmodically butted by traversing passengers,
brash as goats.
Mindful of inner strength,
Marcus Aurelius stepped back,
a neat cubit’s length.

The computer screen a fascination,
he commended the duty girl’s operation,
her agile hands, expressionless economy of
‘This is the only information I have.’
Marcus Aurelius ascertained
his next permissible train
as the 20.01.

Inside Cafe Nero, in seated position,
he mastered desire for his Chester connection;
averted his eyes from a beggar; shunned pity –
emotional giving so morally unfitting;
approved proud football fans’ swift nemesis:
brusque police escort, straight off the premises;
puzzled the sense of a passer-by’s wit:
‘These trains ‘ave gotta be a joke, innit?’

At 19.55, with measured pace,
he duly proceeded towards Platform 8.
The amber-lit board flashed new information:
The 20.01’s cancellation.
At that point,
Marcus Aurelius
lost it.

Julia D McGuinness is a writer, counsellor and writing for wellbeing practitioner based near Chester. She has written 4 non-fiction books and her poetry has been published online. Her first poetry collection, Chester City Walls, was published last year by Poetry Space.