Her book is divided into two sections; Flower Power/People Power, and Roses and Thorns: A Retrospective on Life’s Triumphs and Trials.

Looking at the first section.

Each flower is examined through our relationship with it, rather than a look at the life of the flower.

 “BUTTERCUP”  begins with an event that made me smile, because I remember doing it, and it being done to me as a child. The putting of the petals of the flower under your chin to see whether you liked butter. Such a tender moment, that in the poem becomes a memory of the person that did it. Nostalgia brought up sharply into grief.

The theme of dealing with grief is suggested by an “In Memoriam” before the contents. The book is dedicated to Virginia Mustard (my dear late friend, Ginnie) who loved all flowers, especially sunflowers”.

In “WILD POPPIES”

Each one a dear friend,
remembered fondly every
day, held close in prayer,
like blood-red droplets trickling
from a wound which never heals.

Nature as an orchestra. Paganism often referred to in the form of fairies and Saturn and magic. 

In “THE HOLLY AND THE IVY”

These rites still prevail in the fabric of earth
And we still gather berries and deck out our homes,
Using these symbols to mark Christian birth,
Forgetting their origin on old pagan stones.

Christian Easter only once.

Exceedingly visceral description brings a time and place to life in “LADY WITH LAVENDER AURA”:

She hears the electric hum of bees in lupin throats,
watches fingers pluck flowers from air-raid shelter walls,
Breathes in carbolic soap from the hard-scrubbed nails
of her dad, stripped off to wash in the kitchen sink,
Drools as her mum lifts milk-topped scones from
the blackened side-oven – Mrs Beaton’s, of course.
On elbow crooks and freckled wrists she drips
the oil, cuts on her fingers stinging like vinegar.

“DRAGONFLY” the final poem describes the fleetingness of life, and joy:

banishing the inky-black maelstrom
within me, rekindling extinguished
flames of passion, long pulped to ash
in a broken heart.

Together for a nano-second
we tasted eternity.

In “Section Two: Roses and Thorns: A Retrospective on Life’s Triumphs and Trials.” most of the poems are inspired by other folks poems and music or dedicated to folk. The first poem speaks of being reborn, the last of deep sleep. The poems deepen the exploration of grief, of something lost, something regained, or never regained. Again, the orchestral metaphor, specifically in the first poem inspired by Ralph Vaughan Williams “The Lark Ascending”., and “REQUIEM FOR A CELLIST”, Then throughout the section music choral and otherwise become a metaphor for the movement of nature as in:

TWO SOULS RETURN IN SEARCH OF A LOST EDEN

In memory of Garry and Judith, forever in my heart

How still it is! Waiting measured in raindrop crotchets,

A celebration of childhood excitement in “FLASHBACK AND PROLEPSIS”, then of het grandma. All poems of recall.

The final poem in the collection is “THE POET AT NIGHT” A Celebration of the Joy of writing Poetry. sums up the whole book in this phrase:

Virtual sonnets
ripe for inscription dance across
the linen canvas of a blotting paper sky.

Tenderness , memory and celebration worked through so that it is a book of surprises. A necessary journey that may be bought here: Where Flora Sings

folktober – Lincoln Inp

A Lincoln Imp

Tell you why I’m motionless here, grinning
down at you. Satan let us out to play.
Mate and I sat on a church spire twisting
it. Chesterfield never had better days.

Next we blew through that door. Tripped up Bishop.
So serious. In the Angel Choir broke
chairs and tables till angel out a hymn book
told us to stop, so I lobbed stones at bloke

while mate scarpers to Grimsby, where angel
catches him, smacks his arse, turns him to stone
as he did to me. At least mate can waggle
his smacked arse at visitors I’m alone.

Need a bit of fun in this God given
place packed full of all praying and hymning.

-Paul Brookes

Keeping Afloat” is the new chapbook from internationally published poet, Samantha Terrell. Samantha provides the reader an opportunity to explore the depths of self-awareness, gain social insights, and emerge with renewed purpose and buoyancy. Inspirational! Samantha’s book is available internationally from Amazon.com.

Samantha Terrell

author of Vision, and Other Things We Hide From (Potter’s Grove Press), is an internationally published American poet whose work emphasizes self-awareness as a means to social awareness. Her poetry can be found in publications such as: Anti-Heroin Chic, Dissident Voice, Fevers of the Mind, In Parentheses, Misfit Magazine, Red Weather, Sledgehammer, and many others and has been featured on radio shows and podcasts from Wyoming to Glasgow, and beyond. She writes from her home in upstate New York, where she and her family enjoy kayaking on still waters.
Find her online at: SamanthaTerrell.com.

The Interview

1. How did you decide on the order of the poems in your book?

I tend to agonize quite a bit over the order of my manuscripts because I want the poems to logically flow from one to another. I’m usually working to form an over-arching story or carry the reader along a journey. It takes a lot of tinkering around until a suitable order emerges.

2. How important is form in your poetry?

When it comes to form, I don’t have any formal training in the field of poetry/literature (my college education was in the field of Sociology), so I’ve taught myself by reading and research. But I also like to get inventive with form, and I take a lot of creative liberties.

3. How does nature influence your writing?

Oh, nature! I love spending time outside, and like many poets, probably, I find it to be a great source of inspiration for writing.

4. How does nature inspire you?

I turn to nature to find peace and sort through life’s complexities. I incorporate many themes and metaphors from nature in my work. It’s a constant ever-changing source of inspiration.

5. How does writing from a first person perspective help you compose poetry?

Writing in first-person is a natural way to write, because it’s like speaking. However, I’ve heard writing in first-person can sometimes be frowned upon or overdone in poetry. But I often enjoy reading confessional or first-person poetry, so I don’t shy away from writing it myself.

6. In “Ever Upward” you quote from the psalms. How important is your religion to your poetry?

Although my own Judeo-Christian perspective shapes who I am and what I write, I intend to reach a broader audience than those within my own faith background. I’ve been fortunate to be welcomed into the international poetry community, and I appreciate people of various perspectives and backgrounds. I make efforts not to be overbearing or “preachy” in my own work. That being said, on the occasions that I have written explicitly religious pieces, I have attempted to publish them with an appropriate faith-based lit mag such as LogoSophia.

7. What do you wish the reader to take-away from Keeping Afloat once they have read it?

My hopes for a reader of Keeping Afloat are outlined right there in the title – we all need to keep each other afloat in this world! I like to say that my poetry is meant to inspire self-awareness as a means to social awareness. And, in this case, I hope a reader of Keeping Afloat will enjoy each poem – and the chapbook as a whole (along with Jane Cornwell’s beautiful artwork) – to spur them on both as an individual, and in the community of humanity.

Other Works By Samantha

Samantha Terrell

folktober – Dorset Ooser

One of only two known photographs of the original Ooser, taken between 1883 and 1891 by J.W. Chaffins and Sons of Yeovil

The masked one

Look at me in the street and you will see a man as ordinary as can be. You see nobody, nothing of any consequence, no reason to trouble yourself about me. Day and night are such strange characters. It’s not just the absence of light, you know. Though it helps, of course.

Glance upon my countenance tonight and you shall see a god who you will worship if you look at him at all. I guarantee you will not look too closely. You fear that I can see into your soul, strike you dead, or dumb and blind. To cast your eyes upon me is by invitation only. Deities choose whom they are seen by. You will know that is not you.

Yet today, did you think twice before you pushed past the middle aged man, dressed in a conservative fashion. Dressed in costume by day. As he changes into another by night.

Which is the mask you ask yourself, and which is not? And well you may.

Oh come, simpleton! You don’t expect me to answer your question, do you?

-©Ailsa Cawley 2021

By way of introduction, one of Odin’s many by-names is Grímnir (the masked one, the hooded one), another is Grímr (mask). As such, he questions the giants, the etins, the Jötnar , interrogating the great unknowables, in quizzing contests for which the wager is the other’s head. An example of this would be Grímnismál.

Grim

Fire on my sword-hand, fire on my shield,
The cold that runs across my mind
Is not enough. Iron-nerves can melt.
Daring to be dead already may dull the fear.

Immense, the etin imitates the sky.
Knowledge comes from nothing, knowing void.
Thought waits on motion, memory on both.
Odin is the stillest thing, stays curious.

“By what name is it known, among the nine worlds:
The fear in every heart? First among the Jotun,
If you have wisdom words can carry.
Speak so you are heard. Spit is Kvasir’s blessing.”

“The fire is afraid of falling away.
The ice fears inertia; Etin-kind, understanding.
The Vanir make a villain out of virtuous thought.
While the Aesir have no fear, but annihilation.

“Men fear leaving the middle-way,
Women fear their words of command.
The elves fear the other will be lost.
The dead fear nothing: doom is assured.

“Now I have named it, next is yours:
Speak out, hooded one, what holds your fear?”
“I will tell you when tomorrow comes –
This dread, like you, lying dead at my feet.”

-Math Jones 2020

Dorset Ooser

I’m a mask. Two holes for eyes where there
are no eyes. Inside these small spaces is a
larger place where a brain would be where
thinking would take place and a tongue to say

what comes to mind, instead I’m emptiness.
When you wear me I don’t have your brain,
tongue, but you are different more or less
from when you don’t wear me, you’re not the same.

I have horns and a moveable jaw. When
you speak through me, I don’t speak. I always
say nothing. You have all the words to bend
to thoughts I never have. These word ways

are a mystery to me. How am I
speaking now? I’m only a mask. So why?

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

-Ailsa Cawley

has been writing stories, poems and verses since she was a child. 
It’s not always what is considered poetry by some, as she isn’t a lover of sweet, schmaltzy rhymes! 
She is currently writing her first novel. A psychological thriller with a paranormal element, and she hopes to bring out a poetry collection one day! 
She lives on the Isle of Skye. While some of her poetry is written from personal experience, others are written from her slightly dark and twisted  imagination. 

Wombwell Book Reviews Schedule

Monday 25th October “When Flora Sings” by @RoyallMargaret Margaret Royall,

Monday 1st November “Photovoltaic” by @philonotis Sarah Watkinson,

Monday 8th November “In The Taxidermist’s House” by Marion Oxley,

Monday 16th November “Waldeinsamkeit” by @liamporter92 Liam Porter,

Monday 22nd November “Samara” by @grahammort Graham Mort

Monday  29th November “A Window of Passing Light” by @KerryDarbishire Kerry Darbishire,

Monday  6th December “That’s Not A Fishing Boat, It’s a Giraffe: Responses to Austerity” by  @IMcMillan Ian McMillan,

Monday 13th December   “The Water Engine” by  @SeaGoatScreams Ankh Spice,

Monday 20th December “Traumatropic Heart” by @S_sanDarlington Susan Darlington

Monday 27th December “Subruria” by Mark Antony Owen

folktober – Mordiford Dragon

Only extant picture of dragon on Mordiford Church

Guess what I saw this morning?

There was a dragon
in the valley, curled
like a white cat:
each scale a pearl;
each breath a cloud
of soft white silk –
’til the whole valley
was a bowl of milk –
as the sun brightens
with the coming day,
such dragons fade.

-Sarah Connor