I’m very grateful to editor Justin Karcher for choosing to find a home for my poem amongst lots of fine pieces of writing.
I’m very pleased to have had one of my poems published in The Magnolia Review. My thanks to editor Suzanna Anderson for choosing the poem, and for putting together such a great collection of art, poetry and prose – the largest issue of TMR to date.
You can read the whole issue here, and will find “Little Grey Cloud” hogging the horizon about a fifth of the way in.
There’s a week left until voting closes for February’s Pick of the Month at Ink, Sweat and Tears, and one of the contenders happens to be my poem “Lobster Tail”. You can read all the poems in the shortlist (and they are all very fine) and cast a vote for your favourite by clicking here and then following the link.
There’s a chill in the air so maybe now’s the time to indulge in the finer things in life. Roll out some ‘Gingham’, add a display of ‘Drunken Roses’, enjoy ‘Lobster tail’ with ‘Milk and Honey’ and be tempted by the ‘gods’ of ‘Gucci, Prada, Michael Kors’. Or maybe you want to do it…
I’m delighted to have two of my poems – “C” and “Last view of the island” – included in the February 2018 issue of Red River Review. You can read both these poems and a fine collection of others by clicking here, and following the link from the homepage.
My thanks to editors Bob McCranie and Michelle Hartman.
The Martian view of Earth
No lines are drawn in their way of perceiving things
between seeing, hearing, and everything else, so
we appear as short bursts of frantic energy, obsessed
with purpose and radiation of certain wavelengths.
To them, the Earth is not, of course, ‘The Earth’,
any more than Mars is ‘Mars’. Words; just another
endearing quirk we get so excited about. They are
puzzled by our fixation with the idea of the nation state,
and its attendant border security, flags and anthems,
but also by lawnmowers, and by the peculiar concept
of fish fingers, there being neither fish nor even fingers
as such on their planet, the one we think of as ‘red’.
first published in The High Window, issue 7, 2017
It’s a real honour to be part of the second issue of the Northampton Poetry Review, and in particular to have been chosen as Featured Poet for this issue.
I’m very grateful to editors Tom and Philippa Harding for finding space to include five of my poems – Winter Fire, October, Sunshine, Holly and Putting back the clocks.
This issue is a fine collection of work from a very talented group of writers, and I’m sure NPR will become a well-established and admired publication over the next few years.
In the moment
The kids are in love, and so sweetly
you can see it melting out of them,
see gravity getting smashed into
a million pieces beneath their feet
as they bounce along, occasionally
touching down because they can.
In their free hands, the ones not
holding the other’s, they clutch balloons
painted in colours we can no longer see,
inflated with their restless thoughts of
an unmapped future, raw materials
yet to be processed into anxieties.
Don’t you remember the first days of our
being? The damage we caused to gravity?
Our balloons? How the brilliant shock
of it interrupted time itself, and made
the future evaporate, while we failed to
notice ourselves not breathing properly?
first published in Tales from the Forest, Issue 5, 2017
We did not see the swollen river
overtop its banks, failed by the
modest bow of its channel, its
traffic doubled by the bludgeon
of three consecutive moonrises
under rain, waters earth-brown.
Instead, we passed a day later,
taken by the bleached streamers
of torn-up grass, stretched like
comet-tails from the lowest boughs
of thornbushes, calm swirls of sand
making fish-loops across our path.
first published in Southlight Magazine, issue 22, 2017
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