Folktober Challenge, Day 8

merrildsmith's avatarYesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Banshee

Fairy maid or fairy crone,
woman of the mound,
you may hear her lamenting song

or in the night
a keening cry, a howl, a shriek, a wail.

Dogs will whimper and bark,
soldiers flee from battle spots,

and you will feel an icy spike
centered in your heart,
sharpen than any surgeon’s scalpel
as it cuts–

and you’ll wonder if this is a harbinger
of what will be,
or explanation of what was.

Paul Brookes is hosting a month-long ekphrastic challenge using folklore images to celebrate the launch of his new poetry collection, “As Folktaleteller.” You can see the images here and also read the other responses.

View original post

#folktober #ekphrasticchallenge. Day Eight. To celebrate the launch of my new poetry collection “As Folktaleteller” I am downloading 93 folklore art images, 3 per day in October and asking writers to write poetry or a short prose inspired by one, two or all three images. Please join Kirsten Irving, Gaynor Kane, Ankh Spice, Jane Dougherty, Kyla Houbolt, Jessica Whipple, Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen, Chris Husband, Eryn McConnell, Dave Garbutt, Merril Smith and I, plus those who react to the images on the day, as we explore images from folktales.

F 1.8. Banshee

F 1.8. Banshee

F 2.8. Menehune_Bank_from_1946

F 2.8. Menehune_Bank_from_1946

F 3.8 Elizabeth_Bathory_Portrait

F 3.8 Elizabeth_Bathory_Portrait

 

A wish for peace (inspired by F1:8, the Banshee)

I would say, be still, Mother,
they have no power over you,
the dour-faced, black-clad men,
nor does he call you, their dead god,
a withered fruit hanging in a winter tree.

I would say, listen, Mother,
to the soft-voiced owl on the roof beam,
the silent seals waiting among the waves
at the imbrication of the worlds,
this, that, animal, human,
the same round blue enfolding us all.

I would tell you, take back your youth, Mother,
the golden days, the young hound and the horse,
race with them across the green.

And I would take the Bean sí by the hand,
wipe away her tears and tell her, Mother,
the owl calls you too,
take the feathered path home,
and leave your sorrow by this door.

-Jane Dougherty 

The Banshee Tells All

Well. I finally escaped. Now I have to find some decent clothes, I mean, just LOOK at these rags they made me wear! And I must get my hair done. I am I cannot tell you HOW tired of this scraggly do, and all for performance’s sake! I mean. I don’t know any of those dead people, and there were always several of us wailing around in the air at the same time anyway so it’s not like I will be missed. I mean, there aren’t Old Gods Police or anything, to come after me. So, basically, I just slipped away one night, and now, here I am in Hawaii. Or maybe it’s Tahiti, you have to forgive my ignorance of geography, they didn’t teach us much, just sent us on up into the air to screech and moan if someone was about to die. Not a life for someone like me, someone with a bit of spirit and a yen for some excitement. It gets extremely boring, all that anguish and yowling all the time. I tell you what, I am ready to PARTAY! But first like I said, I have to get spruced up some. Do you know any good boutiques that don’t discriminate against the discarnate? Let me know! I’m just going to hover around this bar for a while, imbibe some spirits etherically if you know what I mean, and then I think I’ll stroll on the beach. Well, if I can pinch a bikini from somewhere first. There are some advantages to being only partially visible. But it’s good to feel ground under my feet for a change, instead of all that empty air.

(for October 8, 2022, Folktober)

-Kyla Houbolt

The Banshee of Downing Street

I am back so soon
Who calls me?

It is coming
Death by thousand cuts

It is coming
death by 10 million votes

It is coming
Death by the letter openers
of ex-colleagues

Listen and fear
listen and run.

-Dave Garbutt


Beware the Banshee (F1. 8 Banshee)

Shriveled dream
Withered hope
She arrives in fiendish glory
Her face a devil’s scrivening
Dessicated gouge of tears

Her curdled locks reek of rot
Her fingers stink of graves
Her gown a shroud,
Her soul entombed,
She paves the way for death

Hell’s fire eyes blind
with hissing grief unfurled.
She slips through keyhole slits –
slithers under parlor doors –
to scorch with piercing shrieks.

She wails the woe of a million souls,
Screams a shroud of ghouls,
Augurs death with keening howls
that prick the spine with ice

Beware her dirge of looming death –
Lest it scrape and scour your spine –
Her song will steal away your breath
And her touch will steal your mind

-Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen @dempseycohen http://www.MudAndInkPoetry.art

Banshee

Screams sliding over the frost
Even the trees shiver in fear
The Banshee. She has come
Fingers trailing over dark branch
Her mouth opens to emit a keen
Her mourning has begun.

Eyes rimmed red, swollen
Her weeping leaves silvered trail
On her pale snow-white face
She comes to mourn her dead
O the Banshee, the faerie dame
The first to mark our passing
She is dead, she sings. She is dead.

-Eryn McConnell 

My Beseeching Note to Menehune:

(Inspired by Image F 2.8 Menehune Bank From 1946)

O, Mythical dwarves
The admirable “Superb Craftsmen”
dwelling in the
deep forests and hidden valleys of the
Hawaiian Islands
I beseech you all
from the bottom of my heart
to pierce my mommy’s heart
by arrows of all of you
for I have charred a lot in her wordless-wrath
Standing on the threshold of becoming charcoal with
guilt for constantly lying to her
To glow with stimulus
I need a rekindling
of her sanity
towards me

-©Spriha Kant

Banshee

Fairy maid or fairy crone,
woman of the mound,
you may hear her lamenting song

or in the night
a keening cry, a howl, a shriek, a wail.

Dogs will whimper and bark,
soldiers flee from battle spots,

and you will feel an icy spike
centered in your heart,
sharpen than any surgeon’s scalpel
as it cuts–

and you’ll wonder if this is a harbinger
of what will be,
or explanation of what was.

-Merril D. Smith

For My Followers

This is the #realdeal, guys. Blueberries, caffeine, haemorrhoid cream – ditch them if you want to stay cute. First twenty likes get the bathtime set. Iron-intensive, extra-virgin, fresh from the gynaeceum. I’m in such trouble for sharing this. Not an ad. Not being paid. Just don’t want my Minibeths to miss out. We’re at 9999. Let’s get to 10K. Keep it juicy, Bessies. Keep it #natural.

-Kirsten Irving

Bios and Links

-Jane Dougherty

lives and works in southwest France. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and stories have been published in magazines and journals including Ogham Stone, the Ekphrastic Review, Black Bough Poetry, ink sweat and tears, Gleam, Nightingale & Sparrow, Green Ink and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She blogs at https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/ Her poetry chapbooks, thicker than water and birds and other feathers were published in October and November 2020.

-Eryn McConnell

is a poet originally from the UK who now lives in South Germany with their family. They have been writing poetry since their teens and is currently working on their second collection of poems.

-Spriha Kant

developed an interest in reading and writing poetries at a very tender age. Her poetry “The Seashell” was first published online in the “Imaginary Land Stories” on August 8, 2020, by Sunmeet Singh. She has been a part of Stuart Matthew’s anthology “Sing, Do the birds of Spring” in the fourth series of books from #InstantEternal poetry prompts. She has been featured in the Bob Dylan-inspired anthology “Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan” by the founder and editor of the website “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art” David L O’ Nan. Her poetries have been published in the anthology “Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind”. Paul Brookes has featured her poetry, “A Monstrous Shadow”, based on a photograph clicked by herself, as the “Seventh Synergy” in “SYNERGY: CALLING ALL WRITERS WHO ARE PHOTOGRAPHERS” on his blog “The Wombwell Rainbow”. She has been featured in the “Quick-9 interview” on feversofthemind.com by David L’O Nan. She has reviewed the poetry book “Silence From The Shadows” by Stuart Matthews. Her acrostic poetry “A Rainstorm” has been published in the Poetic Form Challenge on the blog “TheWombwell Rainbow” owned by Paul Brookes. She also joined the movement “World Suicide Prevention Day” by contributing her poetry “Giving Up The Smooch” on the blog “The Wombwell Rainbow”, an initiative taken by Paul Brookes.

-Gaynor Kane

from Belfast in Northern Ireland, had no idea that when she started a degree with the OU at forty it would be life changing.  It magically turned her into a writer and now she has a few collections of poetry published, all by The Hedgehog Poetry Press Recently, she has been a judge for The North Carolina Poetry Society and guest sub-editor for the inaugural issue of The Storms: A journal of prose, poetry and visual art. Her new chapbook, Eight Types of Love, was released in July. Follow her on Twitter @gaynorkane or read more at www.gaynorkane.com

-Dave Garbutt

has been writing poems since he was 17 and has still not learned to give up. His poems have been published in The Brown Envelope Anthology, and magazines (Horizon, Writers & Readers) most recently on XRcreative and forthcoming in the Deronda review. His poem ‘ripped’ was long listed in the Rialto Nature & Place competition 2021. In August 2021 he took part in the Postcard Poetry Festival and the chap book that came from that is available at the postcard festival website. https://ppf.cascadiapoeticslab.org/2021/11/08/dave-garbutt-interview/.

He was born less than a mile from where Keats lived in N London and sometimes describes himself as ‘a failed biologist, like Keats’, in the 70’s he moved to Reading until till moving to Switzerland (in 1994), where he still lives. He has found the time since the pandemic very productive as many workshops and groups opened up to non-locals as they moved to Zoom. 

Dave retired from the science and IT world in 2016 and he is active on Twitter, FaceBook, Medium.com, Flickr (he had a solo exhibition of his photographs in March 2017). He leads monthly bird walks around the Birs river in NW Switzerland. His tag is @DavGar51.

-Merril D. Smith

lives in southern New Jersey near the Delaware River. Her poetry has been published in several poetry journals and anthologies, including Black Bough Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic,  Fevers of the Mind, and Nightingale and Sparrow. Her first full-length poetry collection, River Ghosts, is forthcoming from Nightingale & Sparrow Press.  Twitter: @merril_mds  Instagram: mdsmithnj  Website/blog: merrildsmith.com

-Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen,

a retired teacher and children’s library specialist, considers herself an adventurer. She has meandered the country in an old Chevy van and flown along on midnight runs in a smoky old Convair 440 to deliver the Wall Street Journal. She is a licensed pilot, coffee house lingerer, and finds her inspiration and solace in nature in all its glorious diversity. Loving wife and mother, she makes her home in the wilds of Portland OR. www.MudAndInkPoetry.art 

-Kyla Houbolt’s

first two chapbooks, Dawn’s Fool (Ice Floe Press) and Tuned (CCCP Chapbooks), were published in 2020. Tuned is also available as an ebook. Her work has appeared in Hobart, Had, Barren, Juke Joint, Moist, Trouvaille Review, and elsewhere. Find her work at her linktree: https://linktr.ee/luaz_poet. She is on Twitter @luaz_poet.

Review of ‘Fool’s Paradise’ by Zoe Brooks

Nigel Kent's avatarNigel Kent - Poet and Reviewer

Sometimes a poetry book crosses your desk that you know instantly is very special. You don’t have to read very much of Fool’s Paradise (Black Eyes Publishing, 2022) to recognise that this is a remarkable book written by a highly-skilled poet totally at ease with her craft. I knew Zoe Brooks’ writing from her collection, Owl Unbound (Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2020) and through hearing her read at Zoom sessions with the Cheltenham Poetry Festival. As a consequence I have been an admirer of her work for some time, but even given that I was surprised by the quality of the writing and the intellectual force that drives this compellingly layered work.

Fool’s Paradise is a poem for voices. It tells the story of a journey made by three travellers to a great city at the end of a bloody conflict. Significantly the journey begins ‘Between two rocks at a crossroads’:…

View original post 1,394 more words

Celebrate #WorldSmileDay I will feature your published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks about smiling, or that features a smile. Please include a short third person bio in your email to me.

world Smile day wsd22-poster-300x400

Tonight, There Is Wine

Yesterday,
We argued. But tonight, we laugh
Over a glass
Of chardonnay,

And a book of bad
Poetry that I tossed
Out on the lawn
For dramatic

Effect. And,
The line
Of your smile
Is a road from our past

Into the future – you lovingly said okay, when I told
You I refuse to envision
It any other way than
One in which, together, we become old.

-Samantha Terrell

(“Tonight, There Is Wine” was previously published by Red Weather Poetry, and is included in her newest collection Cosmic Tragicomedy.)

I love your smile:

Do not let your sorrowful memories

follow you like your shadow

for they glue

your upper and lower lip tubercles together.

Your teeth

as magnificent as

alabaster

in your curved lips

shine like

a flicker of a halo upon frozen snow

and the dimples on your cheeks

is what my heart always seeks.

©Spriha Kant

Bios and Links

-Samantha Terrell

is an internationally published American poet whose writing has received five-star reviews. In 2021, she earned First Honorable Mention in the “Anita McAndrews Poets for Human Rights Awards” organized by Poets Without Borders. Terrell resides in upstate New York with her husband and their two children.

-Spriha Kant

developed an interest in reading and writing poetries at a very tender age. Her poetry “The Seashell” was first published online in the “Imaginary Land Stories” on August 8, 2020, by Sunmeet Singh. She has been a part of Stuart Matthew’s anthologies “Sing, Do the birds of Spring” and “A Whisper Of Your Love” in the fourth and fifth series of the books from #InstantEternal poetry prompts. She has been featured in the Bob Dylan-inspired anthology “Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan” by the founder and editor of the website “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art” David L O’ Nan. Her poetries have been published in the anthology “Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind”. Paul Brookes has featured her poetry, “A Monstrous Shadow” as the “Seventh Synergy” in “SYNERGY: CALLING ALL WRITERS WHO ARE PHOTOGRAPHERS” on his blog “Wombwell Rainbow”. She has been featured in the “Quick-9 interview” on feversofthemind.com by David L’O Nan. She has reviewed the poetry book “Silence From The Shadows” by Stuart Matthews. Her acrostic poetry “A Rainstorm” has been featured in the Poetic Form Challenge on the blog “Wombwell Rainbow” owned by Paul Brookes. She also joined the movement “World Suicide Prevention Day” by contributing her poetry “Giving Up The Smooch” on the blog “Wombwell Rainbow”, an initiative taken by Paul Brookes. She celebrated National Poetry Day by contributing her poetry “Travel in the Laps of Nature” to the blog “Wombwell Rainbow”. She has reviewed Clive Gresswell’s poetry book “Spaces”.

Folktober Challenge, Day 7

merrildsmith's avatarYesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Images 1.7 and 3.7

Shapeshifting: Two Shadorma

1.
Shapeshifters–
dwell in the in-between,
nightmare beasts
given form
by our baleful innermost
demons. Darkness freed.

2.
Desire
calls, shameless siren,
and female,
of course. So,
hobble her, keep her locked-in
house and mind. But then

remember
the murk-minded who
fear women,
abhor cats,
toss independence, bring plagues,
rivers of dark dread.

Paul Brookes is hosting a month-long ekphrastic challenge using folklore images to celebrate the launch of his new poetry collection, “As Folktaleteller.” You can see the images here and also read the other responses.

View original post

Folktober Challenge, Day 7

Spriha Kant's avatarSpriha Kant

A SUBCONSCIOUS MACABRE FEELING:

(Inspired by the Image “F 1. 7. The Kelpie”)

The silent Loch says a lot about that menacing spirit— rumoured or real, no idea.
There is no trace of any chunk on the edge of or nearby a river¬— either that menacing spirit is no more than an imaginative dark character in that story or all the entrails have been skeletonized.
But I have seen no trace of any skeleton anywhere yet.
No black horse is standing nearby the edge of the river either.
I have spotted
neither
a handsome man
with water weeds in his hair
and/or
having feet with hooves
reversed to that of a normal horse
nor
a rough and hirsute man
anywhere
yet.
An unearthly wailing
from the river
has just started
gliding in my ears
Now climbing the steps of the sound higher
Shivering down my spine!
Oh! no! I do…

View original post 204 more words

#folktober #ekphrasticchallenge. Day Seven. To celebrate the launch of my new poetry collection “As Folktaleteller” I am downloading 93 folklore art images, 3 per day in October and asking writers to write poetry or a short prose inspired by one, two or all three images. Please join Kirsten Irving, Gaynor Kane, Ankh Spice, Jane Dougherty, Kyla Houbolt, Jessica Whipple, Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen, Chris Husband, Eryn McConnell, Dave Garbutt, Merril Smith and I, plus those who react to the images on the day, as we explore images from folktales.

F 1.7 The Kelpie

F 1.7 The Kelpie

SONY DSC

F2.7 Dromedary

F 3.7. Page_158_illustration_in_More_English_Fairy_Tales Cat. Sidhe

F3.7 LOBISOMEM-COBRA NORATO (Brazilian folkore)

Bestiary

where the curious, grotesque, bizarre,
horrifying and tremendous squirm, and
none held the ancient eye more so
than the objects of desire.

What darkness we lived in then,
illuminated only by the sinuous serpent-light
in the margins of gospels,
full of weasel words, wolf-famine words,
and the fiery sword of sin-reckoning.

What darkness we live in now,
spotlit by celebrity glitter, the dazzle of power,
glimro of corruption, and the falsities that drop
from pulped and white-toothed mouths.

Then, now, the darkness seethes,
the abyss yawns, and all our yesterdays
drop one by one into the jaws of the beast,
never seen, that curls, waiting,
in the heart of humanity.

-Jane Dougherty

Kelpie

The lake is clear and calm
Nary a ripple on its surface
Like a mirror in the sun
It’s quiet. Tranquil.

A black shape breaks out
Water snaking from the back
Of a creature who leaps
From the still waters
Mane tossing, hooves flying

The Kelpie, Lord of the Loch
Power radiating from your form
His head turns to seek out
A victim, another sacrifice
He craves blood and limbs
And fear and screams.

Children flock to the Kelpie
Hypnotised by their beauty
But when they climb onto
Its powerful back and entwine
Their small hands into the mane

Their fingers become tangled
And they cannot remove them
And the Kelpie dives deep
Taking with it the terrified child
Who is consumed under the waves.

The Kelpie, Lord of the Loch
Dazzling in beauty yet deadly
The shapeshifter from horse
To human form, indistinguishable
But for the waving water weeds
That you can spy in their hair

Kelpie, Lord of the Loch.
I sit at a safe distance away
As I watch you run along
Hooves flying on the waves
And it’s so quiet. Tranquil.

-Eryn McConnell

F 1.7 Kelpie

Born of the sea,
She lounges, lightsome,
on sun-washed rocks.
shoulder dipped, poised,
scribing a psalm of
rose-tipped breasts and lissome legs.
Dulcet.

While oceans of color
eddy and swirl,
singing beneath her feet,
reflecting in her pearly skin
Sonorous.

Does she name these colors,
hold them on her mermaid tongue
to pour forth in waves of words?
Melodies liquid and alive,
mellifluous as the tide?

Does coral hum on her tongue in a minor key
What timbre croons cobalt in her throat?
Does she sing harmonics in aquamarine,
add piccolos of yellow, black ink of bass notes?

This chorus of color,
kaleidoscope of song,
This luscious lilt
Her siren song.

-Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen @boscoedempsey http://www.MudAndInkPoetry.art

MacCodrum of the Empty Bay

I saw you singing on the beach

I stole
your neatly folded fur and took
it home. It slipped between the stones
above the door.

I wanted a trace of you
I could touch
I wanted it for winter nights
and summer under stars,
smooth and warm to fold in the echoes
of you with your friends.

At dusk you came to my door
naked, left behind, asking

“Have you found my lost skin?
I live in the water, without it
I can’t get back in.”

And I knew I could keep you—
not live on my own
start a new clan
never sleep all cold—
I saw what quivered
in your eyes would never leave.

My salt-weathered hand reached up
gave you back your fur.

Will you sing here
for me
one day every year?

-Dave Garbutt

A SUBCONSCIOUS MACABRE FEELING:

(Inspired by the Image “F 1. 7. The Kelpie”)

The silent Loch says a lot about that menacing spirit— rumoured or real, no idea.
There is no trace of any chunk on the edge of or nearby a river¬— either that menacing spirit is no more than an imaginative dark character in that story or all the entrails have been skeletonized.
But I have seen no trace of any skeleton anywhere yet.
No black horse is standing nearby the edge of the river either.
I have spotted
neither
a handsome man
with water weeds in his hair
and/or
having feet with hooves
reversed to that of a normal horse
nor
a rough and hirsute man
anywhere
yet.
An unearthly wailing
from the river
has just started
gliding in my ears
Now climbing the steps of the sound higher
Shivering down my spine!
Oh! no! I do not wanna be devoured
like delicious food.
I can’t do anything
but can just run away!
Running…….
Running…….
Suddenly, a hand from the back on my shoulder!
Shivering down my spine!
And I shouted,
“I beg you to not devour me, Kelpie
for my parents will become living corpses
if my entrails will become my vestiges.”
Then, my face splashed with water
And I saw my mommy who was
waking me up for my college.

ⒸSpriha Kant

WARNING:

(Inspired by the Image “F 1. 7. The Kelpie”)

Beside a river
or
on the edge of
or
nearby the edge of
a river
If you spot any voluptuous woman
then don’t get attracted to her
like an iron piece to a magnet,
my son
for she may be an aquatic menacing spirit “Kelpie”
with
stygian intents
crawling like spiders
weaving webs
for trapping
men to deaths.
Take a reverse gear, my son
if any waterweed in her hair
and/or
her feet with hooves
reversed to that of a normal horse
is/are will be spotted.

ⒸSpriha Kant

Shapeshifting: Two Shadorma (Images 1.7 and 3.7)

1.
Shapeshifters–
dwell in the in-between,
nightmare beasts
given form
by our baleful innermost
demons. Darkness freed.

2.
Desire
calls, shameless siren,
and female,
of course. So,
hobble her, keep her locked-in
house and mind. But then

remember
the murk-minded who
fear women,
abhor cats–
toss independence, bring plagues,
rivers of dark dread.

-Merril Smith

Bios and Links

-Jane Dougherty

lives and works in southwest France. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and stories have been published in magazines and journals including Ogham Stone, the Ekphrastic Review, Black Bough Poetry, ink sweat and tears, Gleam, Nightingale & Sparrow, Green Ink and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She blogs at https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/ Her poetry chapbooks, thicker than water and birds and other feathers were published in October and November 2020.

-Eryn McConnell

is a poet originally from the UK who now lives in South Germany with their family. They have been writing poetry since their teens and is currently working on their second collection of poems.

-Spriha Kant

developed an interest in reading and writing poetries at a very tender age. Her poetry “The Seashell” was first published online in the “Imaginary Land Stories” on August 8, 2020, by Sunmeet Singh. She has been a part of Stuart Matthew’s anthology “Sing, Do the birds of Spring” in the fourth series of books from #InstantEternal poetry prompts. She has been featured in the Bob Dylan-inspired anthology “Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan” by the founder and editor of the website “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art” David L O’ Nan. Her poetries have been published in the anthology “Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind”. Paul Brookes has featured her poetry, “A Monstrous Shadow”, based on a photograph clicked by herself, as the “Seventh Synergy” in “SYNERGY: CALLING ALL WRITERS WHO ARE PHOTOGRAPHERS” on his blog “The Wombwell Rainbow”. She has been featured in the “Quick-9 interview” on feversofthemind.com by David L’O Nan. She has reviewed the poetry book “Silence From The Shadows” by Stuart Matthews. Her acrostic poetry “A Rainstorm” has been published in the Poetic Form Challenge on the blog “TheWombwell Rainbow” owned by Paul Brookes. She also joined the movement “World Suicide Prevention Day” by contributing her poetry “Giving Up The Smooch” on the blog “The Wombwell Rainbow”, an initiative taken by Paul Brookes.

-Gaynor Kane

from Belfast in Northern Ireland, had no idea that when she started a degree with the OU at forty it would be life changing.  It magically turned her into a writer and now she has a few collections of poetry published, all by The Hedgehog Poetry Press Recently, she has been a judge for The North Carolina Poetry Society and guest sub-editor for the inaugural issue of The Storms: A journal of prose, poetry and visual art. Her new chapbook, Eight Types of Love, was released in July. Follow her on Twitter @gaynorkane or read more at www.gaynorkane.com

-Dave Garbutt

has been writing poems since he was 17 and has still not learned to give up. His poems have been published in The Brown Envelope Anthology, and magazines (Horizon, Writers & Readers) most recently on XRcreative and forthcoming in the Deronda review. His poem ‘ripped’ was long listed in the Rialto Nature & Place competition 2021. In August 2021 he took part in the Postcard Poetry Festival and the chap book that came from that is available at the postcard festival website. https://ppf.cascadiapoeticslab.org/2021/11/08/dave-garbutt-interview/.

He was born less than a mile from where Keats lived in N London and sometimes describes himself as ‘a failed biologist, like Keats’, in the 70’s he moved to Reading until till moving to Switzerland (in 1994), where he still lives. He has found the time since the pandemic very productive as many workshops and groups opened up to non-locals as they moved to Zoom. 

Dave retired from the science and IT world in 2016 and he is active on Twitter, FaceBook, Medium.com, Flickr (he had a solo exhibition of his photographs in March 2017). He leads monthly bird walks around the Birs river in NW Switzerland. His tag is @DavGar51.

-Merril D. Smith

lives in southern New Jersey near the Delaware River. Her poetry has been published in several poetry journals and anthologies, including Black Bough Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic,  Fevers of the Mind, and Nightingale and Sparrow. Her first full-length poetry collection, River Ghosts, is forthcoming from Nightingale & Sparrow Press.  Twitter: @merril_mds  Instagram: mdsmithnj  Website/blog: merrildsmith.com

-Jacqueline Dempsey-Cohen,

a retired teacher and children’s library specialist, considers herself an adventurer. She has meandered the country in an old Chevy van and flown along on midnight runs in a smoky old Convair 440 to deliver the Wall Street Journal. She is a licensed pilot, coffee house lingerer, and finds her inspiration and solace in nature in all its glorious diversity. Loving wife and mother, she makes her home in the wilds of Portland OR. www.MudAndInkPoetry.art 

-Kyla Houbolt’s

first two chapbooks, Dawn’s Fool (Ice Floe Press) and Tuned (CCCP Chapbooks), were published in 2020. Tuned is also available as an ebook. Her work has appeared in Hobart, Had, Barren, Juke Joint, Moist, Trouvaille Review, and elsewhere. Find her work at her linktree: https://linktr.ee/luaz_poet. She is on Twitter @luaz_poet.

World Suicide Prevention Day

Spriha Kant's avatarSpriha Kant

Giving Up the smooch:

Venomous snakes conjured up in my mind
from my anxieties, frustrations, and negativities.
They slithered in my nerves.
They threatened me with their hissing sounds and flickering tongues.
I begged for emotional support
but all I got in return was
empathy as frozen as Tundra.
They tied me in a gnarly knot and bit and swallowed my stimulus.
I am now like an old plaster crumbled from a wall
about to smooch the death willingly.
But I know after this smooth, I can never smooch
So, from now on, I will keep on
venting out
my emotional state
in my diaries
till my creator doesn’t
take me away with him.

© Spriha Kant

Paul Brookes has featured the works of others with me on World Suicide Prevention Day. If you wanna get featured or read the works of other contributors, please check out the link:https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2022/09/28/every-day-we-should-mark-a-worldsuicidepreventionday-please-join-spriha-kant-sue-watling-and-myself/

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National Poetry Day

Jane Dougherty's avatarJane Dougherty Writes

This year the theme is the environment. Paul Brookes is featuring environment-based poetry on his blog today. You can read the contributions here.

I’ve written so many poems on this theme, I wouldn’t know where to start to find the one I consider the best. So I churned out another one. Not necessarily good, but it’s spontaneous, and I hope some of the anger I feel comes across.

Once upon a time

There were cows in this field once
and hedges all around, where hares sat
in springtime, looking for trouble,
and blackbirds and nightingales sang.

They took the hedges out, root and branch,
and burned all trace, the hares, sporting trophies,
and cows that pied-patterned green meadows,
they interned in sheds, to beat hooves on concrete,
to never suckle their stolen calves.

Grain sprouts now in tidy, weed-free rows,
to feed the cattle stocked like white goods
in their…

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For National Poetry Day: ‘Cogs’ by David Cooke

The High Window Review's avatarThe High Window

Here’s my little contribution to National Poetry Day: a poem about unsung heroes which has been taken from my latest collection, The Metal Exchange.

*****

cogs

*****

COGS

For too long unheeded, it’s time
to note their virtues: the way
they grip and take the strain;
their down-to-earth precision.

Gearing up doggedly, with only
occasional jolts and judders,
the odd involuntary moan,
they are truly fit for purpose,
when there’s work to do.

Tight-lipped and stubborn,
their staying power outlasts
newfangled knowingness,
your brittle take on a world
they alone sustain.

All they lack in intuition
is neither here nor there,
so long as wheels are turning
and bright contraptions sing.

What you have called
your bigger picture seems
to have passed them by.

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