Anchor

It has been noted in the village,
that she only ever goes to church,
when nobody else is there.

It has been said that she does not
require a congregation, prefers
to air her petitions to stone in secret.

We have watched her sliding by
on that old fashioned bicycle,
chain purring like an elderly cat.

She smiles, but does not stop,
not for anyone. Once I caught
her coming out of the church,

manoeuvring the great North door,
that rides beneath the constellations,
as love spins the universe round.

She did not leave immediately,
but processed from yew to yew,
wishing them well, enquiring their health.

At the time I thought it strange,
but now I understand – nature moves
on what priests hold in their hands.

-Ali Jones

Religious Figures

Shadows of figures
Move in and out
Around the churchyard
At ease,
Carrying only their burdens,
Or their joys,
Taking for granted
The vastness of the space,
Regardless of its
Actual dimensions.
Its openness reveals the
True weight that ails
Mortals comes from within,
Not without.
The sun that shines, or rain
That falls, appears to be brought,
Not bought,
Nor borne of environment.
Sometimes the churchyard
Is more freeing
Than the church.

-st

Our Unicorn Spire

rises from the head
of a wild, untameable animal
with frozen strength and agility.

As a schoolboy I placed
paper over a stone in the walls
built to hold this force,

asked to rub with coloured pencils,
or chalk to get the complex
lines and changes I was more

distracted open mouthed at the horn spire.
We entered the beast at Easter,
Harvest and Christmas.

Sometimes its insides were full
of flowers and fruits, or holly
and candles. Mam said “Unicorns

don’t exist'”, and showed me pictures
of Narwhal and Rhinoceros. The village
church was more magical than those.

My unicorn was frozen
into stone and villagers hollowed
it out to make a church.

I still remember the teacher
asking me why I hadn’t finished
my stone rubbing. I stayed stum,

afraid of being called “silly”
or “he’s in his own world, again”.
It was wonderful having my school

next to a petrified creature.
When we studied fossils,
I wanted to point to the church.

I wanted to rub my hands over its flanks,
Imagined it breathing, knew graveyard walls
could not imprison it forever.

-Paul Brookes

No Rolling Credits

Beneath these massive marvels,
the bodies of those masons
are buried— without coffins.

The architects took the cake.
Queens plundered the fame.
From the woman

who placed first brick
to the man who applied

final stroke of brush:
all are dusted. Names

have been forgotten.

we never memorised
in first place

-Jay Gandhi

Relic

Vapid shadows of strangers
glide past her as if she is a ghost,
a relic fallen into mist,
but those who are quiet hold
the darkest secrets.
She sits in the eye of the sun,
stone bleached mouth
ready to unburden memories
from her fading façade.
She has comforted sinners,
pulled blood into her chalky marrow,
cajoled pennies from the arthritic fingers
of old women and men.
She has been a shelter and a jail,
inviting in the weary to steal their resolve,
locking doors and hiding keys.
She is the bitter crone that lives
in the pocket of a mother’s frock,
the lion hiding under a kind tongue.
Do not be fooled by the worn skin of her teeth.

-Susan Richardson

Bios and links

-Jane Cornwell

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 two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

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.

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

The Interview

1. What inspired you  to write poetry?

Observations of the world around me, including the emotional impact of our experiences.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

Mostly my mom, who is an artist, teacher, painter, writer. My dad also loved poetry and was, in fact, probably my biggest supporter besides my husband.

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

My parents introduced me to all things literature. We also attended a lot of cultural events, such as a “Shakespeare in the Park” series and many museums and intellectual events. When you are exposed to these avenues as a young child, they become a part of you and overflow into your writing.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I’m told I’m supposed to have one of those. 🙂

5. What motivates you to write?

Social justice issues are a huge motivation for me, and unfortunately the world always seems ripe with new injustices. I also use a term “emotional integrity” to describe some of the impetus behind my work, because I think reading and writing can help us to detangle our sometimes messy, emotional processes.

6. What is your work ethic?

I consider myself a hard worker, and I usually have several projects going. But as a homemaker and mother of two young boys, I’m not always in a position to be writing.

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

I still love Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Robert Louis Stevenson, Longfellow. I aspire to write well and in a lasting way, and in that way I believe they influence me.

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

Carmel Mawle, founder of Writing for Peace and editor of Dove Tales gave me an opportunity no other editor has afforded me. She not only published a few of my poems after I had had many years of rejections, but also became a friend who I have been able to email with from time-to-time, and has made time for aspiring writers in a way that the usual publishing world just won’t.

Rick Lupert, writer and founder at Poetry Super Highway uses his website and his own gifts to attempt to connect other poets online. He also runs a weekly podcast and invites live readings. It’s nice to see modern poets reaching out to use the technology online to connect others. (I see that in you, too, Mr. Brookes. And, again, thank you so much for your welcoming kindness to other writers!) We have such a rejection-filled industry, it’s refreshing to see that.

Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords.com started his e-book website because of his frustration with the traditional publishing world. When other methods of publishing have proven unsuccessful, it has been a great joy to be able to share my e-chapbooks via Smashwords instead.

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

Because I don’t have other skills! 😉 Actually, I just enjoy the fluid medium of writing.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Pick up a pencil. Know when to throw out the bad stuff. Don’t give up when you get rejected.

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

All of my e-chapbooks are available on Smashwords.com and my most recent one was titled “Silhouettes” (2019). It’s a compilation of poetry I wrote after my Dad died of congestive heart failure in 2018. The link is here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/923089

However, my most recent chapbook manuscript is titled, “Vision, and Other Things We Hide From” and it includes many previously published individual pieces, along with some never before published poems. It is currently out for consideration. It is my life goal to have a full book-length manuscript published by a real publisher.

https://13myna.blogspot.com/

Spring Step

When I first learnt about Goddesses,
I was impressed – especially with Flora
who could seed flowers
as she stepped.

I liked how Boticelli saw her,
wearing a living gown,
holding her gaze.
I was never so sure about the festivals,

Hunting goats and hare,
the sacrifice of white female beasts,
The blood on the earth
of the clean white temple.

I think Flora would prefer
a religion of the green thumb,
where worship goes into the garden
wielding a trowel.

Where each small action
becomes a prayer.
Sometime I think I see her watching me
through the knots

in the trunk of the silver birch,
always reaching out to me,
in moments when sky fills my head –
urging me to bloom.

-Ali Jones

Where Feet Trod

Lead on.
Take my body
Wherever I must go.
Through pleasant,
Flowered-fields, and
Rocky trails also.
Why we walk there,
Those difficult paths,
I’ve never understood.
But I must admit,
The feet tread only,
Where the mind instructs.

-st

Path Of Seeds (Vacana)

O, Lady of the breath,
selfish and in control,

you decide the path of seeds
you carry and drop in my grove.

Landscape architect place
an acorn here, a Daisy here,
chestnut over there. No negotiation.

Blow my intricate clocks into half spheres,
my Sycamore immigrants spin
through your gusts.

Shoot moss into these worn mortared walls.
Broadcast grass between these carefully
laid pavements.

With you I have no choice
you deliver into me
whatever you hold.

I welcome your unexpected gifts.

-Paul Brookes

Feet & petals (a poem for Corona warriors)

Those eyes have missed a lot of smiles
and feet have run a lot of miles.
In hospitals they’re on their game,
they have a mighty beast to tame.
their noses bleed because of mask
and pumping hope is major task.

But they will have a warrior story.
Those feet will stride away in glory.

-Jay Gandhi

Frolic

I have never frolicked barefoot
through fields of flowers,
breathing in the sweet caress of petals,
delicate against my heels and toes.
Mine was a beach dwelling family,
addicted to waves,
being pulled under and vanishing.
As a child I ventured in slowly,
afraid of the ocean’s vast arms,
shells that seemed to have teeth,
the sting of jelly fish.
I preferred playing in the sand,
where I could bury my feet,
feel the grains solid and smooth
between my toes.
I think I would have liked the touch
of flowers, fragrant and gentle,
the safe mantle of trees
sheltering me from the sun.
Maybe there is still a field
waiting for me to frolic over its petals,
willing to welcome my old and tired feet.

-Susan Richardson

Bios and links

-Jane Cornwell

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 two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

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.