An apology to Andrew Ford
As things stand, he is the bole of this unsteady tree,
the backmost reaching into the frail chain of records,
through the sporadic diggings of our research, and
I picture him taking the days of journey north from Devon,
by the old Roman road, possibly driving one of the carts
or wains he’d made, loaded with what could not be left,
bound for a place he’d only heard of, yet believed held
all the answers. This place, that kicked the light out of me
from the moment I could stand. Then every moment after.
The one I couldn’t wait to flee. Now the insistent hands of
autumn tear at the leaves, and the bough is close to breaking,
I have no way to tell him what I’ve failed to do, how sorry I am.
first published in Forage, 2017
Sometimes it’s as though we’re cradling it,
nurturing it gently, nomads with a flame,
carrying it with us, between us, wherever we go.
How carefully we feed it when necessary:
a dry fist of kindling to make the sore,
red embers burst back into life again;
a brooding log to see us through the night;
the quick volleys of our breathing, spat as words,
the oxygen it would perish without.
first published in Shot Glass Journal, issue #22, 2017
When things were good and I still believed in us,
even the mundane obligations sang like whales,
and taking the wiry road down the hamstrings
of the island to its full-stop, on those bastard mornings,
a single cassette on the stereo to numb the losses,
always made unquestioned sense. Sometimes in
light hushed with pearls, sometimes with the blade
of the wind knifing clear to the marrow, I’d time each
arrival against the tide, sifting it for treasure, perform
the errands, light the fires. Then return to you, the road
now huddled into a spool of knees and elbows, the
mountain a tight wedge tripping over its own steps before
falling like a tantrum into the kettle-grey ocean below.
first published in San Pedro River Review, Spring 2017
I’m pleased to report that one of my poems, “Streetview”, has been included in the latest issue of the rather magnificent Ghost City Review.
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…
via Time to Vote for your February 2018 Pick of the Month —
I’m really pleased to have had another of my poems up recently at Ink, Sweat and Tears. You can read “Lobster Tail” by clicking here. Many thanks to editor Helen Ivory for picking the poem, after also publishing “Jumper” back in 2016.
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.