I’m delighted to have had four of my poems accepted for publication by Bindweed Magazine, and very grateful to Leilanie Stewart and Joseph Robert for such a generous thumbs-up.
This will be my second time appearing in Bindweed, after having “Cymbalaria Mularis” published there in 2016. I will post a link to the four new poems once they go live in the spring.
This particular poem first appeared here in 2018. Seems like a good time to give it another outing.
Scraping back the steady,
now matted, accumulation of
leaf-fall from three darkening
months, and surfaced today
with a softly-glazed frosting,
reveals the yellow-green
points of galanthus, crocus,
narcissus, in a silent, cloaked
gathering of the faithful,
staking their futures on a
promised spring, still more
than a moon’s cycle away.
first published in Blue Heron Review, issue 7, 2017
The third of my trio of poems appearing at Amethyst Review is now up. You can find “Holocene” here.
My appreciation goes out again to editor Sarah Law for her support.
I’ve been following Atrium Poetry on WordPress since it first launched, more or less. So I’m particularly pleased that my poem “Atoms” is currently appearing on the site. You can check it out here, and if you don’t already follow Atrium, I’d reckon there can’t be many poetry webzines out there more worthy of your attention.
A big thank you from me to editors Holly Magill and Claire Walker for giving one of my poems such a fine home.
The Beach Hut is a relatively new online platform for writing inspired by the coast. I’m very pleased and grateful to have had one of my poems – “Spurn Head” – accepted for publication in the near future.
I’ll post a link to the poem once it goes live.
It’s a big pleasure to have a poem featuring over at Cacti Fur just now. You can read “Towards the end of our knowing one another” by clicking here.
My gratitude goes out again to editor Jim Thompson for selecting one of my poems.
Happy New Year to everyone, and my best wishes for a 2020 of peace and contentment.
Season’s greetings to one and all.
The second of my three poems being published by Sarah Law at Amethyst Review has now gone live.
You can read “Assynt” here. If you’re not familiar with it, the title refers to a particularly beautiful area of the North-west Highlands of Scotland.
Thanks again to Sarah for her support.
God once stopped while I was hitch-hiking,
barrelling south down the Ghost Road
through that endless stretch where
Yorkshire almost starts to resemble Texas.
He flung open the door of a long, white
Mercedes with seats made out of cows.
Given all His hard work, I couldn’t begrudge
Him it, nor the platinum signet ring on
His little finger. He looked – that day – not
unlike a young Topol, or Trotsky, with a
well-groomed neatness to His silver-threaded
curls and goatee. We talked about cars
and girls, the usual stuff, vulnerability.
He asked me how I liked His ride; I guessed
the ambiguity was entirely accidental.
What would you do – He asked me seriously
– if I were to reach out and touch you,
right here, right now? What would you do?
The question hung in the slim air between us,
like a brand new planet, still in its wrapper,
dangling innocently in the heavens He’d built.
Gazing out at the reams of road ahead
waiting to be swallowed up, I shuddered,
understanding for the first time that my soul
was really only ever going to be on loan.
Original version published in Algebra Of Owls, 2017
Amongst all the fabulous places to visit in the galaxy of online poetry, Cacti Fur remains one of my personal favourites.
So I’m dead chuffed to have had my poem “Towards the end of our knowing one another” accepted for publication there, especially as it will go live on New Year’s Day and kick off 2020 in fine style.
I’m very grateful to editor Jim Thompson for picking this one out, after having published another one of mine, “Béchamel Sauce“, back in 2016.
From my second storey room
up at Eddie’s I hear the kids
screaming over at the park
across the street, squeezing out
the pulp of the summer holidays.
Through a thin stripe between
the cigar-brown curtains the sky
is darkening, but I can only imagine
the world as puzzled together
from random sounds, peopled by
grown-ups on blood-pressure pills
bumping their tidy cars at twenty
along the ruts of the avenue.
Gulls yack the shore in over
the rooftops. Somewhere near
there will be waves throwing up
the ocean onto a dog-walker’s
beach, waiting like idiots for
the mood to reveal itself.
My bed creaks out a lullaby
on its springs every time I move.
I’d lose my mind if I could only
remember where I’d left it.
first published in Stickman Review, 2018
