Thankyou to all those who stayed the course and achieved this final day as part of my annual National Poetry Month ekphrastic challenge amazing Jane Cornwell (artist), and poets moving Susan Richardson, profound Samantha, telling Jay Gandhi, deep Ali Jones, inspiring Dai Fry. April 30th

30

Liaisons

In summer time, head to the cemetery,
out around nine o’clock, where birches drip the days
and you’re freshly plucked and razored
into what you think is your best self.

You’re meeting friends, supposed to be going
out with a boy, some years older than you
and you don’t know his last name, but covet
his leather gloves and biker jacket, para boots

with stories to tell. Your friends have sticky palms
and cider on their breath, the ground is flecked
with rollies; it’s August and you are still young,
until September comes and moves everyone on.

You kiss the boy on the cheek, maybe take it a little further,
fingers in zippers and the soft sounds of birds,
a gnat swarm suddenly veils you, a graveyard bride,
or a gothic pop-song caricature of yourself.

Later, you lie on the earth and play dead.
Imagine what it would be like to spill into the soil,
while others tell themselves that everything will be ok.
Night rises, fix up your lipstick, kiss the boy

on the cheek again, say thank you,
because that’s what your mother taught you;
that manners are as important,
as the way that you live.

-Ali Jones

The Cobweb’s Breath

Cobweb’s breath dew sticky,
comes over the shoulder
from the back. Hairs
rise from their quiver.
Were I to touch your stone,
would we be holding hands… again?

There is a transparency here
where your roots spike
through the sorrow of long grass.
Under church eyes and iron fencing,
Where we take our visiting hour.

I sometimes wish you
had been burnt in
the gas hot fires.
Then I could have
held you up to the winds.

You may have embraced
cliff-skies and turbulent spirals.
Tree hung dappled brooks
and fresh water meadows.
Casting off your glooms
as you once tossed your hair,
in a shower of grey dust.

But I like this garden
with a parlour’s quiet,
wild flowers abandoned
to this overgrown place.

Where we nearly hold hands
sipping our tea from a flask.

-©️ Dai Fry 29th April 2020.

Tiger Lily

He was playful at the end,
surprising me with treats
when I appeared at his door,
sneaking pieces of chocolate
from his wife’s private stash,
sharing the spoils.
He ate whipped cream without a spoon,
slept in his favorite suede shoes,
told me he wished he could fly away.

He will never be entombed.

He will be given back to the earth,
mingle with the roots of trees,
become the soil that cultivates life.
He will be branches that touch the sky,
leaves rustled by a gentle wind.
He will be a field of sunflowers
that greet the day,
rolling hills that stretch
to the edge of night.
He will be a tiger lily that blooms bright
for just one day,
reminding me to breathe,
to treasure what is beautiful,
what is fleeting.

-Susan Richardson

Moksha

Today the spirits are partying
while the corpses are dancing
in their graves.

They have done it!
They’ve broken the loop
of birth & death.

All these souls are free of regrets
for they can’t repair anything now.

The loads of setting things right
in the next life have drowned.

The manipulative manual
is in tatters.

Having broken all the shackles,
having won the ultimate battle,

there is one thing that’s
irking them now:

Why didn’t we live like this
in the very first place?

-Jay Gandhi

Writing My Epitaph

My ghosts already haunt me.
Ghosts of poor choices and
Things I shouldn’t have said;
Ghosts which sneak up around my grave, and
Show me those deeply-buried,
Long-loathed parts of me
That haven’t fully decayed.
The rotting, fleshy bits hanging in
Their grotesque way,
Reminding me they wait for me
To address their presence, pick them apart and
Bury them again so they may properly deteriorate
Into fertile earth for healthy new growth.

When they come haunting,
My ghosts make a compelling case.
They are translucent, persistent things,
Not unlike the memories they dredge up to share with me.
Sometimes, they nearly convince me I’m already dead.
But why is my headstone blank?
My ghosts don’t understand, but as
They walk me through graveyards,
Instead, I see orchards of opportunity
Ripe to harvest in good deeds for
My future epitaph.


-st

Our Blue Mary (A List Poem)

A caged bride
A dog called what
A salamander’s wool
Age is only a number
Aniseed
Blue Hawk
Escaped
Fingerprint
Found
I decide
In a grain of sand
Kill it my sister
Let me pass through
Midwinter is
My flame
My stone
On the road
Our spired unicorn
Our Unicorn spire
Path of seeds
Silence
Soundtrack
The cost is prohibitive
The one hand
The ruin
The Rung down
The Stag
This egg asks
Trees hold hands
You Meet

=Paul Brookes

Bios and links

-Jane Cornwell

likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.

She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.

-Susan Richardson

is an award winning, internationally published poet. She is the author of “Things My Mother Left Behind”, coming from Potter’s Grove Press in 2020, and also writes the blog, “Stories from the Edge of Blindness”. You can find her on Twitter @floweringink, listen to her on YouTube, and read more of her work on her website.

Here is my updated 2018 interview of her: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-susan-richardson/

-Ali Jones

is a teacher, and writer with work published in a variety of places, from Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry and The Interpreter’s House, to The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. She has a particular interest in the role of nature in literature, and is a champion of contemporary poetry in the secondary school classroom.

Here is my 2019 interview of her: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/12/28/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-ali-jones/

-Jay Gandhi

is a Software Engineer by qualification, an accountant by profession, a budding Guitarist & a Yoga Sadhak at heart and a poet by his soul. Poetry intrigues him because it’s an art in which a simple yet profound skill of placing words next to each other can create something so touching and literally sweep him of the floor. He is 32-year-old Indian and stays in Mumbai. His works have appeared in the following places:
An ebook named “Pav-bhaji @ Achija” available in the Kindle format at Amazon.in The poem “Salsa; a self discovery” published in an anthology motivated by Late Sir APJ Abdul Kalam. The poem “High Caloried love” selected for an upcoming book “Once upon a meal” The poem “Strawberry Lip Balm” selected in the anthology “Talking to the poets” Four poems published in a bilingual anthology “Persian Sugar in English Tea” Vol.1 Two poems published in the anthology “Poets on the Run” compiled by RC James.

His poems have made it to the PoeTree blog and front pages of PoetryCircle.com & OpenArtsForum.com. In free time, he likes to walk for long distances.

Here is my 2018 interview with him: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/09/23/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-jay-Gandhi/

-Samantha Terrell

is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook: Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)

Website: poetrybysamantha.weebly.com
Twitter: @honestypoetry

Here is my 2020 interview of her:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-samantha-terrell/

-Dai-Fry

is an x social worker and a present poet. Image is all but flow is good too. So many interesting things… Published in Black bough Poetry, Re-Side, The Hellebore, The Pangolin Review. He will not stop.

Twitter                  @thnargg

Web.                       seekingthedarklight.co.uk

Audio/Visual.       @IntPoetryCircle #InternationalPoetryCircle Twitter
#TopTweetTuesday

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.

..day 48..

sonja benskin mesher

..day 48..

i let it in
fear
and confusion

had held it apart and got on with the lockdown
my way. then i spoke to another not full of gusto
nor war time spirit , born more recently

that stuff is junk anyhow
keep grinning while all around is dying.

allowed not to be alright a while so
found that expensive soap he bought that
i kept in memory

took it out off its branded box and bathed
with its glorious smell

the small slither
left over from
the mill

will go to the studio iconic
ironic that i am surrounded
with soap
at this time

james

this morning the house is perfumed
outside it rains and i get on with the
day once again

i dream my friends struggle and
i cannot help james

yes we must be careful
very careful james

later i fell over the concrete pots

View original post 27 more words

A Birdsong Is – A Prose Poem Photo Hybrid by Paul Brookes

I am honoured and privileged to be part of this great project by Rob and IceFloe Press. He has done a cracking job with my photos and text.

IceFloe Press

1.

At the finish of the haul and heave over boulders, navigation of waters that want different directions, the undertow drags yet another road, gust tears at your fragile craft, spirals into the lee of rocks, the yaw of the sky until at a finish your scrawls describe colours in cave.

Run from the approaching storm with your lightning attractors, slip, slide on debris to find a hollow where you can watch the electric skies burn themselves out.

A hand takes you down from summer into winter, out of the brightness into the underland where you can hear water’s onwardness but not see its progress. Know it carves out discovery.

A hand leads you into the dark, takes you into yourself down into the roots, the synapses starless rivers that carve out caverns of wonder in a sunless place.

I am in the dark all better for my finger tips…

View original post 840 more words

Wonder: A Pagan’s Year (Stubborn Sod, The Headpoke And Firewedding, Our Ghost’s Holiday.) A creative exploration of sources used to create my poetry series, featuring the cracking art of Marcel Herms.

Stubborn Sodstubborn sod aprilcontents plus added text

Stubborn Sod April Wonder

 

Wonder

This was written in response to the death of the late great Barnsley writer, Barry Hines. I attended a Barnsley Literary Society event in the Eighties where he read some of his work, before the onset of Alzheimer’s took him from us. In this tribute I turn the story of “Kes” upside down and have the bird steal the wonder of a child.

Why include it in a book of poems about pagans? Paganism to me is a constant wonder at nature, the adoration of trees and water, of living things. There are other ‘isms that come into this, but this is my broad, and perhaps crude conclusion.

Flo’s Day: A Pagan’s Year (Stubborn Sod, The Headpoke And Firewedding, Our Ghost’s Holiday.) A creative exploration of sources used to create my poetry series, featuring the cracking art of Marcel Herms.

Stubborn Sodstubborn sod aprilcontents plus added text

 

Stubborn Sod April Flos Day 1Stubborn Sod April Flos Day 2.

Flo’s Day

or Floralia in the posh version. This piece touches on some very controversial issues. It was a Roman festival celebrating prostitution among other areas.

https://www.thoughtco.com/floralia-112636

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Keiran Goddard

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers three options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger, or an interview about their latest book, or a combination of these.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Kieran Goddard Votive

 

Keiran Goddard

(b.1984) was born and raised in Shard End, Birmingham and educated in Oxford. His debut collection was shortlisted for the Melita Hume Prize and he was runner-up in the William Blake Prize. He has worked as in policy and higher education and now runs a small foundation focused primarily on the climate crisis. He is the author of numerous academic articles and is a policy fellow at the University of Cambridge. His other interests include wine, philosophy and pop music. Goddard’s second full-length collection, Votive, was published by Offord Road Books in 2019.

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I first came to poetry through song, pop songs in particular. When I was about nine or ten years old, I would transcribe the lyrics from my favourite songs and then mix my favourite lines up to make a “new song”.

In some sense, dimly, I think I was already aware that language could have a particular kind of intensity if you arranged the images and the sounds with enough care ( or sometimes with enough carelessness, come to think of it )

‘Meaning’ is a complicated, conflicted word, but essentially that is what I was always aiming for. I eventually realised that the intense compression and focus of a poem was paradoxically the most reliable way of opening up the world and accessing its blurrier and more beautiful edges.

I know that is unfashionably earnest, but there you go. I felt it when I was a kid, I knew it when I was a teenager, and I stand by it even now.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

Like many people, I had one brilliant teacher that changed everything for me. I was maybe fourteen or so when I met her. I’d hardly read any books before then, let alone poetry. I’ve been making up for lost time ever since, I suppose.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I can’t say I was, really. I didn’t know much about the poetry ‘scene’ when I started out, and oddly enough I think this probably stood me in good stead. I did have the vague sense that all of the awards were being shared between the same group of tedious old lads. And I was sort of correct about that.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I take notes constantly, and most days I’ll note down a handful of phrases, ideas or images, usually around a particular theme that I am exploring at the time.

Later, I will take a week or so, book myself into hotel in a city where I don’t know anyone and spend all day every day writing, aiming to shape the scraps into something more coherent.

Rinse and repeat.

5. What motivates you to write?

Writing is the way I understand the world. Or maybe it is the way I approach the various ways in which I do not understand the world. I’m unsure which. Either way, it feels utterly necessary.

6. What is your work ethic?

For what it’s worth, I think the notion of a ‘work ethic’ is pretty damaging, and has historically been a sort of quasi-religious injunction leveraged against the interests of labour by the forces of capital.

But being less wanky, and taking your question at face value, I’d say:

I’m naturally lazy, so I have to structure my days to counteract that. I have a fairly demanding day job as well as various other academic commitments, so if I didn’t actively make time for writing, it just wouldn’t get done. So in summary, I work hard, but it doesn’t come at all naturally.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

My early work was hopelessly derivative of the poets I loved, all the predictable ones; Eliot, Yeats, Plath, Dickinson etc.

A little bit later I fell pretty hard for Elisabeth Bishop, Rilke, Paul Celan, R.S Thomas and Anna Akhmatova.

Looking back now, I think there are a few things that have persisted in my work that I can see in all of these writers. Concision is one, musicality is another, as is a general willingness to mix the erotic with the theological.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I’ll try not to overthink this. So I’ve recently loved books by: Layli Long Soldier, Anne Boyer and Michael Symmons Roberts.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I’m not clever enough to answer this question. But I would say that some things aren’t exactly choices.

10. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’ve just recently published my second full length collection, Votive, and am tentatively working on my first book of non fiction. I’m most interested in hope, gift and fetish, so I suspect it will take shape around those themes. Eventually…

The Art of Reinvention, a poem . . . and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine

Photograph courtesy of Sebastian Unrau, Unsplash

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
Basho



A rooster’s crow echoes in the hallowed halls
Of a mind as unfettered as the sun hitching
A ride across the day sky and dying without
Angst into dusk and lunar magic, shinning on
Sea waves wearing away stone, pine needles
Rotting into detritus, decomposing into food and
Housing for small residents of busy ecosystems,
Like the bodies of sinners and saints, one moment
Clay and the next starlight, a sacred unharvest for
Wholly spirits, clinging to nothing, single minded
Evolving and devolving, reinvention and recycling
An etheric trail across the great galaxy of mystery

© 2020, Jamie Dedes

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

reinvention

An old friend of mine is fond of saying that nothing is lost in the Kingdom of God – nothing really dies, she says –  but all things…

View original post 320 more words

Recommended: More Poetry for Troubled Times

Thom Sullivan

ABR

I’m delighted to feature in Australian Book Review’s‘More Poetry for Troubled Times’ podcast, along with 14 others. The podcast includes readings of poems by the likes of WB Yeats, Henry Lawson, Kenneth Slessor, Gwen Harwood, Bruce Dawe, Eavan Boland, Charles Simic, Czesław Miłosz, Denise Levertov, Emily Dickinson, and my selection, AR Ammons. The podcast is available via iTunes, Google and Spotify.

The first ‘Poetry for Troubles Times’ podcast is also highly recommended. It features Sarah Holland-Batt reading Geoffrey Hill, Stephen Edgar reading Seamus Heaney, JM Coetzee reading Zbigniew Herbert, John Kinsella reading Christopher Brennan, David McCooey reading Tomas Tranströmer, and Peter Rose reading Wallace Stevens.

A full list of the readers, poets and poems for the first podcast and the second podcast is available on the ABR webpage.

It’s a great initiative from ABR in the midst of our present maladies.

View original post

..day 47..

sonja benskin mesher

.. day 47..

some times we need to make a move
some says bite the bullet yet i certainly
do not have one
i wonder if you

do

i feel it will damage teeth and while there
are difficulties with dental visits presently

maybe the first phrase
is preferable?

my fancy may not be reality in that
the desire is in the present while all
comes quiet
though in my view
the road is busier
lately

will i really want to ride among traffic
both vehicles and other folk on bikes
or walking and walking with dogs

i remember other summers down the tracks
locals and happy tourists zooming along no

bells to notify arrival

i stayed later this morning finding it damp
again

thinking the fire may not light

a treat in these troubling times
should i meditate i wonder to

rid the mind of all the wonderings
yet…

View original post 39 more words

My annual National Poetry Month ekphrastic challenge has become a collaboration between Jane Cornwell (artist), and poets Susan Richardson, Samantha, Jay Gandhi, Ali Jones, Dai Fry and myself. April 29th

29

Finishing is as Meaningful as the Project Itself

No matter where he goes, it always looks like Yorkshire,
pedal to the metal whenever he can. He comes everywhere
with me. I keep moving, am ghosted by news of milk bottles,
collected late, cricket odds, snow painted over moors.

The endless game of eye spy, that nobody could win, because
the answer was only visible sometimes – grandma’s false teeth.
In the garden, fingering the soil, feather light, never weary.
When I write this, he is long gone, playing mandolin for hours,

making the violin jealous in her velvet home. The needle
always points north, geese skein a morning song, and the way
on is lined with sherbet and barely sugar, Pontefract cakes,
corporation pop. The pull of a homing beacon, the case of

the long way, coming back to the beginning; around each
tarmacked day, a vapour trail, firedogs, a sentence of dusty
boot prints, books, where things are written down. Follow
the words until you arrive home. Put the wood in the hole.

-Ali Jones

Lost In Arcadia

Of Arcadian steel,
this hard moorland. A
bleak back country
kind of beauty,
where I might escape
the weight of empty voices.

Jostled and devoured
by a sense of common learning.
Snapped memories piled up,
made the life I recognised
to be my own.

Competing with skylark’s hook
and silent thrum of insects feet,
a brook that bears me on.
Roads, small as rivers meander.
I traverse the tarmac flow.

I believe I thought this place
and fashioned its being.
As if it could mend me
and patch my canvas
with a sky blue peace.

In my pack, notebook
pen and chewing pencils,
attest to my sadness.
So I sleep and dream
until breakfast time, at
night’s end.

– ©️ Dai Fry 28th April 2020.

Unreasonable Pursuits

There’s too much
Ground to cover.
I wish it weren’t true.
My brain and my body ache, and
There’s still so much to do.

Hitch a ride, or
Take a shortcut
If you can find a way.
But, as for me, the summit
Will have to wait for another day.

-st

On A Road

a wick young lad meets Devil.
Wise with old tales

he goads Devil.
Before I do owt for thee

I want tha soul. Devil gobsmacked
replies  I have no soul

of my own. Only souls of others.
Then gi me those, answers

lad and I’ll do whatever tha hankers for .
Devil hands him a mobile.

This phone contains all my souls.
There is a woman who
would have your tongue. I ask
you visit her and take hers.

God didn’t sleep with me.
He chose that cow Mary.
Devil put you on to me,
Young un’. Tells you I need
your tongue and you need
to take mine.

I offer you hunger,
wrinkles, short life
and disease, and me
as an ugly bitch.
Except
on Saturdays when
I look like a model
and you have eternal life,
youth and health.
Manage your expectations.

Young chuff replies To me you’re beautiful
for six days. Only a monster
on Saturdays when you’re a serpent
from waist down. Accept this mobile.
It contains all Devil’s souls.

And young man returns
to Devil with her stories.
Accept the Sibyl’s tongue.
he says and Devil scowls
at this young buck’s cleverness.

Paul Brookes

Finding the way Home

I dreamt last night
that the world had fractured
into puzzle pieces,
landscapes that once stretched for miles,
broken into lives divided.
Fragments lay strewn across the sky,
smooth and rounded edges
tossed on the wind and turned
upside down,
searching for each other,
longing to find a place to fit.
My father was there,
telling me I was the only one
who could unite the scattered pieces.
“But, I am blind”,
I told him.
“You don’t need eyes to help the lost
find their way home”,
he said.
He kissed me on the cheek,
then broke into petals
that floated away on a breeze.

-Susan Richardson

Himalayan Hike

The hip generation smokes cocaine
& indulges in unsafe sex in the dark
corners of the secluded caves;
No restrictions. No rules. Get
drunk, get high and make merry.
The soil is plagued by adultery.

Some avalanches are such that even
the dead bodies cannot be traced.

-Jay Gandhi

Bios and links

-Jane Cornwell

likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.

She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.

-Susan Richardson

is an award winning, internationally published poet. She is the author of “Things My Mother Left Behind”, coming from Potter’s Grove Press in 2020, and also writes the blog, “Stories from the Edge of Blindness”. You can find her on Twitter @floweringink, listen to her on YouTube, and read more of her work on her website.

Here is my updated 2018 interview of her: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-susan-richardson/

-Ali Jones

is a teacher, and writer with work published in a variety of places, from Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry and The Interpreter’s House, to The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. She has a particular interest in the role of nature in literature, and is a champion of contemporary poetry in the secondary school classroom.

Here is my 2019 interview of her: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/12/28/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-ali-jones/

-Jay Gandhi

is a Software Engineer by qualification, an accountant by profession, a budding Guitarist & a Yoga Sadhak at heart and a poet by his soul. Poetry intrigues him because it’s an art in which a simple yet profound skill of placing words next to each other can create something so touching and literally sweep him of the floor. He is 32-year-old Indian and stays in Mumbai. His works have appeared in the following places:
An ebook named “Pav-bhaji @ Achija” available in the Kindle format at Amazon.in The poem “Salsa; a self discovery” published in an anthology motivated by Late Sir APJ Abdul Kalam. The poem “High Caloried love” selected for an upcoming book “Once upon a meal” The poem “Strawberry Lip Balm” selected in the anthology “Talking to the poets” Four poems published in a bilingual anthology “Persian Sugar in English Tea” Vol.1 Two poems published in the anthology “Poets on the Run” compiled by RC James.

His poems have made it to the PoeTree blog and front pages of PoetryCircle.com & OpenArtsForum.com. In free time, he likes to walk for long distances.

Here is my 2018 interview with him: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/09/23/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-jay-Gandhi/

-Samantha Terrell

is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook: Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)

Website: poetrybysamantha.weebly.com
Twitter: @honestypoetry

Here is my 2020 interview of her:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-samantha-terrell/

-Dai-Fry

is an x social worker and a present poet. Image is all but flow is good too. So many interesting things… Published in Black bough Poetry, Re-Side, The Hellebore, The Pangolin Review. He will not stop.

Twitter                  @thnargg

Web.                       seekingthedarklight.co.uk

Audio/Visual.       @IntPoetryCircle #InternationalPoetryCircle Twitter
#TopTweetTuesday

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.