Not only is The Pangolin Review named after my favourite creature I’ve never seen, it’s editor Amit Parmessur has been kind enough to publish one of my poems in the latest issue.
You can find “An old friend” by clicking here and scrolling down about two-thirds of the way, though you’re very likely to get distracted as you go. My thanks to Amit for including my poem.
My thanks to editor Christopher Fields for taking a punt on four of my poems for the latest issue of Neologism Poetry Journal. This issue is – in Christopher’s words – “a little lean”, which I’m guessing could be a reference to the fact that it contains the work of only two poets. Alongside some fine work by Megan Mealor, you can find my wee quartet – Philadelphia Skyline, Your country, Crows and The quietening down – by clicking here.
Falling asleep on our journey back tonight,
you didn’t see how the sky was starred with a thousand geese,
spearing off in confused fragments to all directions;
some the usual south, others west, others even north-west.
Your eyelids flickered at the horizon instead, painting yourself a brief dream,
far away from the violent uncertainty of these last three days,
the astonished air still bruised with unspent cloud, above the washed earth,
the rivers of angry traffic still fighting their way home.
First published in Allegro Poetry Magazine, issue 13, 2017
Why we are not birds yet
It is not solely the weight of our bones,
and the seriousness of the marrow crowding
their cavities, leaving no room for air.
Nor is it the sorry failure of our shoulders,
too pre-occupied with the burdens of
reason, guilt and all those things we’d
prefer not to know, to ever operate wings.
We may grow flight feathers, and knit them with
wax strong enough for orbiting the sun, because
we are amazing, after all, especially to ourselves,
yet still we cannot circulate comfortably in
three dimensions, even through the fine skin
of our atmosphere. Our attempts to do so will
ultimately be the death of us. The only choice
we have, if any, is how quickly to fall.
first published in Rat’s Ass Review, Fall-Winter 2016 Issue
Sometimes there is no sign of a struggle.
Perhaps they are brought to the house already dead,
molested a little, and then abandoned.
They seem more forlorn this way, inert and muted,
like they simply fell from the sky and managed
to land underneath this particular chair in the kitchen,
or in the middle of apparently random spaces.
It’s different when they’ve put up a fight, however
futile; the scattering of fragments will spread
to several rooms. The heavier feathers
hang like jetsam, beached and unmoving,
while the down, with its filigree whisperings,
takes flight whenever a door opens, almost lighter
than the air it would’ve been used to capture.
first published in Mad Swirl, 2016
Issue 13 of Allegro Poetry Magazine has just been posted online, and includes two of my poems, both of which have bird elements to them, coincidentally. Many thanks to editor Sally Long for choosing to publish Going Home and Empty nest in this issue.
You can find both poems by clicking here and scrolling down to just before halfway (or alternatively, read them all – there’s some really great stuff there!).
Two poems of mine with capital city settings have been published on separate websites in the last week. Finding a dead Waxwing on Braid Road has Edinburgh as its backdrop, and was posted on Colin Will’s poetry site The Open Mouse.
SW12 – a reflection on a train journey through south London – was published today at The Poetry Shed by Abegail Morley.
Big thanks to Colin and Abegail for their support!
I dreamed my way back to the old farm,
with its straight lines and brutal corners,
the sick skies overhead pillowed
with the burden of all that endless work,
my cold hands moving objects bigger than myself,
waiting for something small within me to fail.
It was a relief to wake again in your house,
with its manic garden beating at the screens
to gain entry, to coax us out of ourselves,
its hummingbirds and gentle energy;
and your returning joy, knowing nothing
of the dark soil at the back of my mind.
first published in Dream Catcher, issue 32, 2015
We have now all shed our summer plumes,
swapping them for winter browns, greys, black,
it being the time. The signals have been received.
Recoiling from the mundane assault of rain,
we brandish gaunt faces folded in against the
incessant push of weather towards them.
Our inner compulsions are beyond the elemental;
they send us out in our reluctant packs on these
mindless journeys, bunched like caribou, or penguins,
in ticketing machine queues, on station platforms,
praying to our watches, clawing in the dark miles,
navigating by a rhythm hardwired into our hearts.
first published in Avis, Issue 2, 2016