A fine way to end the year would be reading through this year’s Clear Poetry Anthology, put together by CP editor Ben Banyard. It’s a bittersweet feeling this year, mind you, because although one of my poems is included for the second year running (Clapham Junction, which can be found on page 13), it comes with the knowledge that Ben has decided to call time on Clear Poetry.
Total respect, Ben, for all the hard work you’ve put in running such a great online venue for both aspiring and established poets. And best wishes with furthering your own poetry endeavours.
The third and final Clear Poetry Anthology is now available to download and read, free of charge.
via Clear Poetry Anthology 2017 — Clear Poetry
I’m extremely pleased to have one of my poems – “Number 44” – included in the Winter 2018 issue of London Grip, and to be in the company of some fine poets in this issue.
My thanks to editor Michael Bartholomew-Biggs for choosing my poem.
Issue 41 of Brittle Star magazine is being launched this coming Wednesday, 1st November, at The Barbican in London.
One of my poems, “Inevitably” is appearing in this issue, and I’m really grateful to Brittle Star’s editors Martin Parker and Jacqueline Gabbitas for choosing to include it.
Unfortunately, London is a little far away for me, otherwise I would love to be there! If you’re interested in going to this free event, there are more details here.
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!
At my time of departure,
London is suitably grey,
is stifling a smile;
beneath the scribbled-on
plaster casts of
East End developments,
the broken bones remain unmended.
But soon these six snooty carriages
will have left such triviality behind;
the Boat Train makes no calls
in its hour of
Those streaks of subdued colour
were – I believe – the English countryside;
our fruity sea air smells of men
Somewhere out at sea the sun is shining. Now,
what was the name
of that city?
First published in Envoi, 1997