Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 21 November, 2021 Chapter Two continued: “Generous of you to deplete my scotch,” Owen noted. “Sure. It’s been a long day. A drop of real holy water would go down nicely.” He concealed a grin as he shelved canned goods and lobbed produce into the fridge. “Spoken like the bloody Scotsman you are.” “Don’t push it. And much as I admire the Scots, my background is Welsh, you nitwit. You still haven’t explained why you’re here.” Owen dumped the cat food into a ceramic bowl and watched as Banjo commenced ravenous feasting. “Thought it was time I came for a visit, that’s all.” Ryan poured an inch of whiskey into two glasses. “Got any ice?” “After two years? You just woke up this morning and decided you’d drop in on your girlfriend’s ex-husband? Christ, Ryan, I haven’t laid eyes on you since the divorce… -Gayle J. Greenlea. YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME <!– wp:paragraph –> Third week -Flourishing – Day Seven -Paul Brookes Bios And Links -Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 20 November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Owen suppressed a convulsive urge to laugh, and instead moved to the kitchenette to deposit groceries on the bench top. “Nice of you to drop in, Ryan. How did you get in, by the way?” “Hilary’s keys,” Ryan choked between curses. “That cat should be guarding the Gates of Hades.” “Looked like he was,” Owen observed mildly. “Though, in actuality, the only thing he’s up to guarding is his stomach.” Addressing the cat: “Tuna flakes with whole prawns, brave one?” Banjo leapt with unencumbered elegance from bookcase to coffee table to bench top to oversee the opening of a tin of Fancy Feast. “That cat should be drawn and quartered.” “Oh, Ryan, you’re only put out because I caught you with your pants down. Now, why exactly did you have your pants down?” The bloom deepened in Ryan’s face and he turned to busy himself at the bar. “Drink?” -Gayle J. Greenlea. YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME Third week – <strong>Flourishing</strong> – Day One -Paul Brookes Bios And Links-Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 19 November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Ryan closed his eyes against the banging in his head, but despite welcome distractions of music and alcohol, he found he could not censor his thoughts. Siobhan in black leather, blue cat eyes widening in pleasure, lips supple and yielding under his own. His body remembered the feel of her skin, breath, touch. Blood raced to his lower mid-section and he touched himself, groaning softly at the exquisite sensations memory reproduced. Ryan fumbled with his zip as he replayed events of last night in his head. Two sisters, in the quivering light cast by candle flame. Arms and bodies, reaching and holding. It was such a turn-on — Hilary watching as he straddled her sister. “I’m going to come, he rasped to no one but himself. Then, several things happened at once: Banjo streaked from under the bed, claws at the ready, to pounce on the vulnerable flesh in Ryan’s hand as keys jangled in the lock and the door swung open. Owen stood in the doorway, slack-jawed with shock, greeted by screeching, howling, and fur flying; the sounding pain of man and beast indistinguishable one from the other as bodies large and small flailed in a tangled mass of flesh and fur. Banjo extricated himself from the fray and shot like an arrow to the top of the bookcase where he sat yowling from adrenalin. Ryan rolled for cover, red-faced and checking urgently for damage before hurriedly doing up his trousers, all the while casting invectives in the direction of the bookcase. -Gayle J. Greenlea. YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME <!– wp:paragraph –> Third week – Flourishing – Day One -Paul Brookes Bios And Links-Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 18 November, 2021 Two continued Back in Darlinghurst, Banjo lay quiet as death under the bed, intent on the invader. Ryan dislodged himself from the easy chair and moved to the CD player, ejecting David Wilcox in favour of Mt. Warning. He poured another whiskey and lay down on the divan, balancing the glass on his chest. “Sorry, David,” he apologised in his head. “Love the lyrics, man, but they’re a little full-on today.” I got a weakness for strong chemistry… Wilcox’s unique blend of dissonant guitar tunings juxtaposed with vocal revelations of psychological dysfunction was more reality than he could take. Mt. Warning’s Petrified Heart invoked a pleasing, mind-erasing balm. -Gayle J. Greenlea. YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME Third week – Flourishing – Day One -Paul Brookes Bios And Links-Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning

PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES, PLUS ADDITIONAL WARNING ABOUT SEXUAL ASSAULT

Zero Gravity

Excerpt for 17 November, 2021

<chapter> Two continued

Thanks for seeing me,” Hilary said. Your friend said you had a run-in with Champagne-Bottle-Man. I’m so sorry.
         Without a word, Penelope pushed back a swathe of chestnut hair and pulled down her pale pink satin chemise. One breast revealed a nipple that had been stitched back into place, still red and raw in the candlelight. Bite marks and bruising marred otherwise alabaster skin. Hilary looked up to see both fear and defiance in Penelope’s face.
         “We’re going to find him.” Hilary stated the words as fact. She was angry that the police had not done more. Sex for money often meant trouble, and the police were known to turn a blind eye. They left brothels to mind their own business, and looked the other way when there were “incidents”. Too much paperwork to bother with the city’s seamy underbelly. Drugs and weapons drew attention, but violence toward working girls was par for the course.  
         Hilary was determined to turn things around. These women deserved better, never mind their occupation. She would write the story of her life to save them. 
         She took the chair Penelope offered, and organised her questions in her head.  

-Gayle J. Greenlea.

YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME

Third week – <strong>Flourishing</strong> – Day One

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

-Gayle J. Greenlea

is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 16 November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Hilary continued to Penelope’s room where she was expected. She’d organised this interview through one of the working girls who knew Penelope. She knocked, Penelope opened, peeked down the hall and pulled her into the room. Penelope’s room was elegant, with a king-sized bed, black leather chaise lounge, the themed chandeliers, and a spa tub. A private bath with a shower was also attached. There was a tinge of gaudiness, too, with ornate antique gold mirrors and loud, mismatched paintings on the wall. Candles burned on built-in wall shelves in nooks around the room. -Gayle J. Greenlea. <strong>YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME</strong> <!– wp:paragraph –> Third week – <strong>Flourishing</strong> – Day Two -Paul Brookes Bios And Links-Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 15 November, 2021 Two continued “Come on, Veronica. This is me you’re talking to.” Hilary put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Eva won’t hear anything from me about who talked. Isn’t this man the one who’s bad for business? I know you don’t want any other girls to get hurt.” Veronica paused, took a deep breath. “Yes, there’s a man who only started coming ‘round recently. He raped one of the girls with a champagne bottle. He bit another one’s lip clean through and she had to get stitches.” Her fur cuffs flew upwards as she gestured for emphasis. “Penelope’s got the story you’re going to want to hear. I don’t know much else, but I’ll keep an eye out like always, sista.” She squeezed Hilary’s hand, worry creasing her forehead. “I gotta get back to work. Penelope’s room is just there, number 27.” And Veronica was gone, descending the stairs with the speed and grace of the big cat whose spots she wore. -Gayle J. Greenlea. <strong>YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME</strong> <!– wp:paragraph –> Third week – <strong>Flourishing</strong> – Day One -Paul Brookes Bios And Links-Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

-Math Jones

Tidying, not writing, Math Jones found a knot, began to unpick it, thinking, “what if, by untying this, I loosened the knot of worry and hurt inside, what if someone could do that?”
So using his years of writing and acting experience, a love of folklore and magic, he made The Knotsman, the life and times of a C17th cunning man.

Math Jones is a south Londoner now in Oxford, a former bookseller turned actor and poet. See also Sabrina Bridge, poetry from Black Pear Press, and eaglespit, Heathen spoken word.

Link to publisher, Arachne Press:

https://arachnepress.com/books/poetry/the-knotsman-by-math-jones/

The Interview

Q:1. How did you decide on the form of poetry that makes up The Knotsman?

I kinda didn’t. The first thought had been a novel, maybe a fantasy novel such as I’d grown up with. But so far, I’ve never felt the stamina or application to manage a novel.

Later, over a few days or weeks, I found myself writing a number of short pieces: a flash fiction, something like a ballad, a rambling patchwork piece like scraps of notes, and a love poem. And they became the core, of the plot lines, of the man, of the people around him.

And as that initial piece was made of fragments, I approached the rest of the book in the same way. Characters, situations, events, almost tangential to the central thing. They became threads in a knot themselves.

As for form, it was then a case of trying different approaches: monologues, dialogues, nursery rhymes, satires, court transcripts, formal and informal, some tied to sonnets, some inspired by Old English alliterative verse. Some straight-forward prose and storytelling. Some concrete verse even. Often, what haven’t I tried yet? Sometimes emulating an earlier piece.

I didn’t really know where it was going, but I did know when I’d written the last piece.

*******

More to come.

Metaphor For My Life

You’re the hip to my hop
You’re my cherry on the top
You’re the vision to my sight
You’re the teeth to my bite
I’m the Elephant to your Castle
You’re the golden wrapping paper round my Christmas parcel
You’re the order to my crazy confusion
You’re my cryptic crossword puzzle solution
You’re the Marmite to my bread and butter
You’re my sanity when I’m a raving nutter
You’re the planet revolving round my sun
You’re the bullet in my gun
(Though you’re so beautiful it’s just set on stun)
You’re the T to my V
The BB to my C
The O to my D
The GC to my SE
You’re the flesh on my bones
You’re my favourite ring tone on my phone
I’m the penalty taker you’re the goal
You’re the Dolmio sauce to my spag bol
You’re the Arctic to my Monkeys
Your love is my drug and I’m your love junkie
You’re the memory to my………………………….amnesia
You’re the diamond to my geezer
You’re my together when I’m the loner
You’re the Marge to my Homer
You’re the Honey & Lemon Strepsil to my sore throat
If I’m Joseph you’re my Technicolour Dreamcoat
You’re the high voltage that helps me function
You’re the Clapham to my Junction
You’re the A to my Z
You’re the comfort blanket to my bed
When I’m the blunt instrument you’re the sharpest knife
You’re the metaphor for my life.

-Neal Zetter