Day 18. My annual National Poetry Month 2022 ekphrastic challenge is a collaboration between artists Gaynor Kane, John Phandal Law, Anjum Wasim Dar, and writers, Angi Plant, Tim Fellows, Math Jones, Merril D. Smith, Jamie Woods, Lesley James, Lesley Curwen, Carrie Ann Golden, Peter A., Barbara Leonhard, Jane Dougherty, Eloise Birnam-Wood, Jen Feroze, Vicky Allen, Simon Williams, Jona Roy, Beth Brooke, Caroline Johnstone, Lynne Jensen Lampe and myself. April 18th.

Day Eighteen

JPL18

-John Phandal Law

AWD - 18 Playing Field

-Anjum Wasim Dar – Playing Field

GK18 Ice Queen at CS Lewis Square Belfast

-Gaynor Kane

AWD18 – Playing Field

from above
an enlightened view
adjusts
the corrective lens
which spins
kaleidoscopic truth
from lies
that life has stilled —
rejecting
the homogenised,
eyes spy
dancers in the plain

-Peter A

Be a Lady
to GK18 Ice Queen at C.S.Lewis Square Belfast

Hold in your tummy
When you walk, or else
You won’t be pretty. I want you
To do the dishes for Mrs.Smith
After dinner with them on Saturday.
No complaints –
It builds character. By the way,
Everyone can see you misbehaving
In the choir. You’re setting a bad example
For your brothers and sisters.
Don’t play with your hair
When you talk to those boys
Across the park. Such flirting,
Will only cause you trouble.
Ladies don’t wear such shirt skirts.
We want you home by nine.
No complaints!
Don’t cross your eyes like that.
They’ll freeze in place.

-Barbara Leonhard

18. [Playing Field AWD18]

In my new dress of green,
I settle softly on the grass,
Hoped to watch the summer pass,
Reflect on what I’ve seen.

Johnny had come by to ask
My father in the lambing field
If he might a cottage build,
And me to be his lass.

I ached to see my father yield,
(Johnny is a handsome lad,
But comes in cloth of scripture clad),
A spit and shake and sealed.

And with a choice I never had,
I sit amongst the butterflies,
All circled round me in disguise,
And yearning to be sad.

But still beneath the growing skies
The wings, that never were the same,
Seem to play a fairy game
Of little ladies. little guys,

Chasing for a sacred name
They fling above the bounding air,
Rolling, dressed in only hair,
And ignorant of shame,

They intimate another where,
A girl in her new dress of green,
Might slip off glady, never seen,
And Johnny will not care.

Math Jones

Level Playing Field
The playing field
slopes right to left;
steeper and steeper
until it becomes
vertical.

-Tim Fellows

Games people play

Funny to think of people playing
at a time like this
men chasing a ball
crowds cheering and hugging

as if as if as if

the world was saved
the children not dead
the cities not destroyed
the oceans not poisoned
the forests not razed.

Funny how they can cheer
at a time like this

as if as if as if

the most important thing beneath the sun
is a ball kicked into the back of a net

almost as funny as arguing
over celebrity antics
TV characters
or which side God is on
the devout murderers’
or the humane unbelievers’.

-Jane Dougherty

Marram Grass (JPL18)

Onshore breeze strokes the strands
of marram grass the way a person
might caress a cat
and the marram grass moves
lithe as a cat, leans with the wind,
watches the sand grains shift
along the shore.

-Beth Brooke

JPL18

I bend
I bend
like bamboo
I bend

in the typhoon
I bend
no matter what the world may do
I bend

because the alternative is breaking
breath taking
heart aching
an end to future making

so I bend
but I bend from strength not weakness
I bend full of light not of darkness

I bend

-Simon Williams

Rorschach Test (AWD18)

He was sweating and so was his bloody
mary. Coasters. He checked the coffee-table
drawer and found a small canvas, a swirl
of absinthe and maraschino cherry spikes.
The painting made him think of columbine—
the flower, not the shooting. When they
moved to this house just two stems flailed
in the front bed, but now they were everywhere,
the columbine outlasting the azalea,
hellebore, bleeding heart. Flowers dim
their colors as summer bleeds out to fall.

Her mother’s assignment. Art therapy.
She’d forgotten about it, never asked
what it was. Red yarn, maybe, the kind
that tufts a blanket made of old denim and faded
flour sacks, heavy as an xray shield. Every
cedar chest holds at least one. She stared
at the green shimmer, remembered her mother’s
crème de menthe. In the painting she saw a crazy
quilt—knots against chartreuse satin stitched
to vermilion velvet and white wool. It didn’t belong.
Not here. She wanted nothing to do with crazy.

—Lynne Jensen Lampe

Windbreak
After JPL18

If the sickened wind
blew iller or harder
the arching stems could reach
snapping point
and that’s why we have splints
and poles and windbreaks
and that’s why we have medicines and vaccines and plasters
at the lake the long grass regrows each year
and that’s how we know we might just survive

-Jamie Woods

Bios And Links

-John Phandal Law

is 68. Lives in Mexborough. Retired teacher. Artist; musician; poet. Recently included in ‘Viral Verses‘ poetry volume. Married. 2 kids; 3 grandkids

-Gaynor Kane

Gaynor Kane lives in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she is a part-time creative, involved in the local arts scene. She writes poetry and is an amateur artist and photographer. In all her creative activities she is looking to capture moments that might otherwise be missed. Discover more at gaynorkane.com

Twitter @gaynorkane

Facebook @gaynorkanepoet

Instagram @gaynorkanepoet

-Anjum Wasim Dar

started drawing at St Anne’s Presentation Convent High School, Rawalpindi.
Drawing was taught as a Core subject from  Kindergarten.
Anjum learnt the  skill of  Still Life, Sketching,  Landscape Drawing, Coloring  and Shading  She recalled the scented wax crayons and black  paper sketch books vividly.

Subject of Fine Arts at Intermediate level at Govt.College for Women Rawalpindi,   was stopped by the Indo Pak War of 1965. Anjum continued her passion for art privately.
Her job as a Teacher Instructor allowed her to pursue Art work designing and preparing  Thematic Bulletin Boards and Low cost teaching Aids with the Fauji Foundation Teacher’s Training Institute Rawalpindi. www.faujifoundation.org.
This won her the National Education Award 1998.
 
Completing  a Course in Graphic Designing  at NICON Academy Rawalpindi , Anjum began working as a Digital Artist, On Line, registered her Own Firm CER Creative Education Resources 2004 and is a Member of DRN Drawing Research Network UK  and www.bigdraw.org.uk
https://www.lboro.ac.uk/research/tracey/drn/
 https://sites.google.com/site/cerprofessionaldevelopment/
With her artistic skills she plans and conducts “Environment Awareness Workshops for Children” and is a member of www.unep.org and www.earthday.org
CER Participated in World Environment Day and Earth Day Programs 2011-2013
“Face of Climate Change”
Anjum  loves Nature, landscapes and abstract imagery. Works with pencils, crayons and  the Software ArtRage 2.0  and MyPaint.

Anjum Wasim Dar’s Art Portfolio  can be accessed  here:

https://www.artwanted.com/anjuartwriter/gallery/

-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

-Lesley James(she/her)

is a teacher and writer. She was shortlisted for Love Reading UK’s 2022 Very Short Story Award. Featured flash can be found in The Broken Spine, FullHouseLitMag and RoiFaineant. Kathryn O’Driscoll selected her poem Empty for Full House’s 2021 mental health live reading and forthcoming podcast. Brian Moses, The Dirigible Balloon and Parakeet Magazine have published some of her writing for children.

-Lynne Jensen Lampe

has poems in or forthcoming from Figure 1, Olney Magazine, Yemassee, Moist Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. Also to come is her chapbook Talk Smack to a Hurricane (Ice Floe Press, 2022) about mothers, daughters, and mental illness. She was a 2020 Red Wheelbarrow Poetry Prize finalist. Born in Newfoundland and raised in the Deep South, she lives in mid-Missouri where she edits academic books and journals. Visit her at https://lynnejensenlampe.com. Twitter: @LJensenLampe.

-Math Jones

is London-born, but is now based in Oxford. He has two books published: Sabrina Bridge, a poetry collection, from Black Pear Press (2017), and The Knotsman, a collection of verse, rhyme, prose and poetic monologue, which tell of the life and times of a C17th cunning-man. Much of his verse comes out of mythology and folklore: encounters with the uncanny and unseen. Also, as words written for Pagan ritual or as praise poems for a multitude of goddesses and gods. He is a trained actor and performs his poems widely.

-Caroline Johnstone

is an author and poet from Northern Ireland now living in Scotland. She has been published widely including Poetry Scotland, The Blue Nib and Marble Poetry. She loves spending time with her grandchildren, curling up with a good book and champagne or cocktails in no particular order. 

-Lesley Curwen

is a poet and sailor living in Plymouth. She often writes about loss, rescues and the sea.

Her work has been published in anthologies from Arachne Press, Nine Pens, Quay Words, Slate, snakeskin, and soon by BrokenSpine and Broken Sleep.  

Her poetic relationship with sound has been helped by her work as a BBC broadcaster, editing words on screen.

-Carrie Ann Golden

is from the mystical Adirondack Mountains now living on a farmstead in the Red River Valley of North Dakota (USA). She writes dark fiction and poetry. A Deafblind, her work has been published in places such as GFT Press, Doll Hospital Journal, The Hungry Chimera, Asylum Ink, Piker Press, Edify Fiction and others. You can find her on her writing blog as well as Medium and Twitter.  

-Jen Feroze

lives by the sea in Essex with her husband and two small children. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in a variety of publications including Ink Sweat & Tears, Chestnut Review, Atrium and The Madrigal. Her first collection, The Colour of Hope, was published in 2020 and she’s currently working on a chapbook of poems about early motherhood. 

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst in a supermarket. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. First play performed at The Gulbenkian Theatre, Hull.  His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews, book reviews and  challenges. Had work broadcast on BBC Radio 3 The Verb and, videos of his Self Isolation sonnet sequence featured by Barnsley Museums and Hear My Voice Barnsley. He also does photography commissions. Most recent is a poetry collaboration with artworker Jane Cornwell: “Wonderland in Alice, plus other ways of seeing”, (JCStudio Press, 2021)

Travelling Without Moving

wendycatpratt's avatarWendy Pratt

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This week I made progress on a writing project. I have passed through a psychological gateway with The Ghost Lake, my Nan Shepherd prize longlisted creative non fiction book. I was lucky enough to be offered representation by two different literary agents in the same week. I met with them both and then had a torturous week of decision making. They were very different agents, both offering the next step on the journey, both with excellent credentials and so much to offer. It was the most exciting thing in the world and the most stressful as I feared the wrong decision. I had a friend help me pick apart what I wanted from an agent, undoing the ‘should dos’ and undressing the ‘this is expected’ and burrowing down into my core values, the way I work as a writer and who would best work…

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Day 17, Ekphrastic Challenge, My Poem, Submerged

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

Inspired by all three images.

Submerged

I’d never seen a sea so blue,
we dove through our reflections
to the unfathomable depths below.

I saw a mermaid, you teased.
I saw a shipwreck, I replied,

and we went back to our hotel
had our tea on a tray in bed,
gasping and grasping like swimmers
near drowning—submerged here–
the do not disturb sign on the door–
and I never wanted to leave
the room, you, tea,
the sound of the surf–

but here I am on this foggy coast,
firmly bound to shore,
the sea is the grey of winter memories

out there, above the sunken ships
called by sirens,
lovers sail on ships of dreams.

I am once again participating in Paul Brookes’ April Ekphrastic Challenge. Each day, I will post my poem(s) here. You can see the art and read the other responses by going to Paul’s site

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Aftermath

Jane Dougherty's avatarJane Dougherty Writes

For day 17 of Paul Brookes’ April poetry challenge, inspired by the artworks of Asum Wasim Dar and John Phandal Law. Please go to Paul’s blog to see the art and read the poems.

Aftermath

Full fathom five
in pearl-light bathed they lie
or in the deep and petaled mud
their coral bones wave-rocked
or gnawed by dogs
all pale all dead all gone.

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Day 17. My annual National Poetry Month 2022 ekphrastic challenge is a collaboration between artists Gaynor Kane, John Phandal Law, Anjum Wasim Dar, and writers, Angi Plant, Tim Fellows, Math Jones, Merril D. Smith, Jamie Woods, Lesley James, Lesley Curwen, Carrie Ann Golden, Peter A., Barbara Leonhard, Jane Dougherty, Jen Feroze, Vicky Allen, Simon Williams, Jona Roy, Beth Brooke, Caroline Johnstone, Lynne Jensen Lampe and myself. April 17th .

Day Seventeen

JPL17

-John Phandal Law

AWD-17 Fathoms

-Anjum Wasim Dar- Fathoming

GK17 hotel tea tray

-Gaynor Kane – Hotel Tea Tray

17. [Fathoms AWD17]

Only measuring fathoms through water,
And in one direction,
And the starting point is us,

On the surface.
Only saying how much ‘down’
There is beneath us, that we know of.

How much ‘down’ we have below us,
How much ‘down’ we have to go,
Till we touch…

Till the water gets so solid we can stand on it.
Till the water gets so heavy we are flattened by it.
Or till we disappear, as dense as what we’re in.

-Math Jones

Aftermath (Inspired by AWD’s Fathoms and John Phandal Law)

Full fathom five
in pearl-light bathed they lie
or in the deep and petaled mud
their coral bones wave-rocked
or gnawed by dogs
all pale all dead all gone.

-Jane Dougherty

17 JPL

Kramatorsk.
Evolve. Revolve.
Pleas: leave while you still can.
Will poppies commemorate these bodies in the streets?
Or at a railway station in Donetsk Oblast
where families gather to escape? Protruding
from the dead tarpaulin
one man’s pale
fist.

-Lesley James

Fathoms (AWD17 Fathoms)

A cave in the sea, icicle bright
in shimmered folds of brine
lit by bloomed fluorescence
of last bioluminants hiding
                      in what is left of the dark

Or is it a ruin smoking on land
half a defeated castle, recently
wrecked by heavy artillery
flame-illuminated, soot-flecked
                   in what is left of the dark

-Lesley Curwen

Conundrum
To GK 17 Hotel Tea Tray

A hike to the Conundrum Hot Springs in Colorado.
“Just over the pass, he said.
Quick hike.”

He took the heavy pack
With the tent, food, water –
Up to 50 pounds.
My pack, just 15 or 20.

He always hiked ahead.
Practically running.
My steps, more cautious.
Tree roots, mud slides,
Scree fields. Switchbacks.
We ascend, descend,
Ascend, descend.
“Can we just go back?
Stay at a motel?”

I dream of a warm bed, bath, pool,
Room service. Hot coffee and cherry pie.

“Come on. It’s just over there,” he says.

“Is this a creek or a river?” I ask.
“Cross here? Are you kidding me?”

High sun. Low blood sugar. Rain.
The way narrows to a game trail.
I breathe to the beat of just over there.
Just over there. Just over there.

After eight hours.
Finally, the hot springs.
Filled with guys. Naked guys.
Curious guys.
“I’m not going in there”, I say.

But the other pool, too shallow.
Too tepid. I’m led back to the party.
They watch. I refuse to disrobe.
Entirely, anyway.
“Happy!?” My crossed arms say.

The water is warm, soothing the tired bones.
More people arrive. A woman with mushrooms.

“Want some?” Her voice lilts with song.
“I’m good, thanks.” Shake my head.

Along side the pool, a shirt and towel
Pressed to the earth. Stomped on.
“Someone drowned here recently,” she says.

Dizzy snow lands on my wrinkled fingers.
Something knocks against my foot
In the steamy pool. Maybe a snake.
I scream.
My husband laughs.

Soon, a noisy crowd approaches,
Hauling six packs, whiskey, bourbon,
Vodka, party food.
“What? Are you kidding me?
Over 3 mountain passes, a river, mud slides.
And scree fields?” I ask.

“No, we’re from Aspen. We parked
Just over there. Not far
From the Marriott.”

-Barbara Leonhard

AWD17

Night peers down,
takes a deep breath
blows
rolls back
the white and yellow
of the day
pushes cloud over the ridge
sends it tumbling into
the valley below the hill
a head-over-heels rushing
that scatters into mist
hangs in translucent shadows
above the river

-Beth Brooke

JPL17

Every year
the authority
holds a ceremony
to reassure

the wounded cannon-fodder who survived
and the bereaved of those who died
that they, who were comfortable
to send the young to war,

do really care —
a necessary tradition
to ensure the continued supply
of filled-with-pride human ammunition

-Peter A.

 

Fathoming

This is based on AWD17 Fathoms

white, tight
toes curl
on rock edge

eyes squint
half-dazzled by
sideways sun

skin cools as
feather-light breeze
teases pellucid water

crouching in golden gleam
fingers flutter the surface
like dragonflies

then

slow entering
slow breathing
slowly fathoming

the length and the breadth
of all that is held
here

-Vicky

 

Submerged (Inspired by all three images.)

I’d never seen a sea so blue,
we dove through our reflections
to the unfathomable depths below.

I saw a mermaid, you teased.
I saw a shipwreck, I replied,

and we went back to our hotel
had our tea on a tray in bed,
gasping and grasping like swimmers
near drowning—submerged here–
the do not disturb sign on the door–
and I never wanted to leave
the room, you, tea,
the sound of the surf–

but here I am on this foggy coast,
firmly bound to shore,
the sea is the grey of winter memories

out there, above the sunken ships
called by sirens,
lovers sail on ships of dreams.

-Merril D. Smith

Treading Water
After Fathoms AWD17

a beach a cove liberty
sanctuary glanced jealously
from this cave snatched
daylight stolen false hope
swirls with the gulls circling
searching for prey
for scraps for sustenance
the tide pulls away dredging
sand a single whelk
in a bay of mussels
stay safe
under seaweed-lined crags
undercover treading water
until the inevitable dark
we can run unscared

-Jamie Woods

AWD17

At the edge
Of consciousness
Lies
The unimaginable
Cloaked
By madness

-Carrie Ann Golden

Fathoms

In the blue cave
creatures live brief lives;
some alone, drifting,
carried by the unseen tide.
Others, schooling together,
flicking direction, sensing
peripheral danger.

On the rocky walls, some
have crafted their own
protective shells, or hide
in subtle gaps.

-Tim Fellows 

In War Their Hands Trench the Soil, Their Bones Feed It (JPL17)

Flanders Fields—a glass
casket of poppies. Senseless
beauty. Remember.

—Lynne Jensen Lampe

I Sup Fathoms

of poppies from a hotel tea cup roll
away the stones from the graves, find clothes
they were buried in. Drink the whole
flowers to ease the loss and recompose

what is lost. Reach for the stars, her upbeat
song played at her funeral, takes me back
to her cremation, her ashes in heat
tea leaves so I sup her brew bring her back.

Asbestos thread cough killed my dad. Ashes
I must broadcast over Lake District tracks.
Cancer took mam, old age nan, all mashes
tea leaves so I sup their brew bring them back.

Grief is a conflict over flight or fight.
Can’t resurrect not dead with drugged delight.

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

-John Phandal Law

is 68. Lives in Mexborough. Retired teacher. Artist; musician; poet. Recently included in ‘Viral Verses‘ poetry volume. Married. 2 kids; 3 grandkids

-Gaynor Kane

Gaynor Kane lives in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she is a part-time creative, involved in the local arts scene. She writes poetry and is an amateur artist and photographer. In all her creative activities she is looking to capture moments that might otherwise be missed. Discover more at gaynorkane.com

Twitter @gaynorkane

Facebook @gaynorkanepoet

Instagram @gaynorkanepoet

-Anjum Wasim Dar

started drawing at St Anne’s Presentation Convent High School, Rawalpindi.
Drawing was taught as a Core subject from  Kindergarten.
Anjum learnt the  skill of  Still Life, Sketching,  Landscape Drawing, Coloring  and Shading  She recalled the scented wax crayons and black  paper sketch books vividly.

Subject of Fine Arts at Intermediate level at Govt.College for Women Rawalpindi,   was stopped by the Indo Pak War of 1965. Anjum continued her passion for art privately.
Her job as a Teacher Instructor allowed her to pursue Art work designing and preparing  Thematic Bulletin Boards and Low cost teaching Aids with the Fauji Foundation Teacher’s Training Institute Rawalpindi. www.faujifoundation.org.
This won her the National Education Award 1998.
 
Completing  a Course in Graphic Designing  at NICON Academy Rawalpindi , Anjum began working as a Digital Artist, On Line, registered her Own Firm CER Creative Education Resources 2004 and is a Member of DRN Drawing Research Network UK  and www.bigdraw.org.uk
https://www.lboro.ac.uk/research/tracey/drn/
 https://sites.google.com/site/cerprofessionaldevelopment/
With her artistic skills she plans and conducts “Environment Awareness Workshops for Children” and is a member of www.unep.org and www.earthday.org
CER Participated in World Environment Day and Earth Day Programs 2011-2013
“Face of Climate Change”
Anjum  loves Nature, landscapes and abstract imagery. Works with pencils, crayons and  the Software ArtRage 2.0  and MyPaint.

Anjum Wasim Dar’s Art Portfolio  can be accessed  here:

https://www.artwanted.com/anjuartwriter/gallery/

-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

-Lesley James(she/her)

is a teacher and writer. She was shortlisted for Love Reading UK’s 2022 Very Short Story Award. Featured flash can be found in The Broken Spine, FullHouseLitMag and RoiFaineant. Kathryn O’Driscoll selected her poem Empty for Full House’s 2021 mental health live reading and forthcoming podcast. Brian Moses, The Dirigible Balloon and Parakeet Magazine have published some of her writing for children.

-Lynne Jensen Lampe

has poems in or forthcoming from Figure 1, Olney Magazine, Yemassee, Moist Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. Also to come is her chapbook Talk Smack to a Hurricane (Ice Floe Press, 2022) about mothers, daughters, and mental illness. She was a 2020 Red Wheelbarrow Poetry Prize finalist. Born in Newfoundland and raised in the Deep South, she lives in mid-Missouri where she edits academic books and journals. Visit her at https://lynnejensenlampe.com. Twitter: @LJensenLampe.

-Math Jones

is London-born, but is now based in Oxford. He has two books published: Sabrina Bridge, a poetry collection, from Black Pear Press (2017), and The Knotsman, a collection of verse, rhyme, prose and poetic monologue, which tell of the life and times of a C17th cunning-man. Much of his verse comes out of mythology and folklore: encounters with the uncanny and unseen. Also, as words written for Pagan ritual or as praise poems for a multitude of goddesses and gods. He is a trained actor and performs his poems widely.

-Caroline Johnstone

is an author and poet from Northern Ireland now living in Scotland. She has been published widely including Poetry Scotland, The Blue Nib and Marble Poetry. She loves spending time with her grandchildren, curling up with a good book and champagne or cocktails in no particular order. 

-Lesley Curwen

is a poet and sailor living in Plymouth. She often writes about loss, rescues and the sea.

Her work has been published in anthologies from Arachne Press, Nine Pens, Quay Words, Slate, snakeskin, and soon by BrokenSpine and Broken Sleep.  

Her poetic relationship with sound has been helped by her work as a BBC broadcaster, editing words on screen.

-Carrie Ann Golden

is from the mystical Adirondack Mountains now living on a farmstead in the Red River Valley of North Dakota (USA). She writes dark fiction and poetry. A Deafblind, her work has been published in places such as GFT Press, Doll Hospital Journal, The Hungry Chimera, Asylum Ink, Piker Press, Edify Fiction and others. You can find her on her writing blog as well as Medium and Twitter.  

-Jen Feroze

lives by the sea in Essex with her husband and two small children. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in a variety of publications including Ink Sweat & Tears, Chestnut Review, Atrium and The Madrigal. Her first collection, The Colour of Hope, was published in 2020 and she’s currently working on a chapbook of poems about early motherhood. 

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst in a supermarket. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. First play performed at The Gulbenkian Theatre, Hull.  His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews, book reviews and  challenges. Had work broadcast on BBC Radio 3 The Verb and, videos of his Self Isolation sonnet sequence featured by Barnsley Museums and Hear My Voice Barnsley. He also does photography commissions. Most recent is a poetry collaboration with artworker Jane Cornwell: “Wonderland in Alice, plus other ways of seeing”, (JCStudio Press, 2021)

The Lascaux Notebooks, Jean-Luc Champerret, ed./tr. Philip Terry (Carcanet Press)

tearsinthefence's avatarTears in the Fence

Whilst dedicated cavers continue to dive and squeeze further and further underground, mapping new networks and entering underground ‘rooms’ no-one else has ever seen, others have always preferred to consider archaeological and anthropological findings in depth rather than simply move on. Jerome Rothenberg has translated and anthologised texts under the term ethnopoetics; Clayton Eshelman has synthesized theology, psychology, creative writing and what would now be called eco-criticism to explore the ‘Upper Paleolithic Imagination’; whilst the first (and for a long time only) monograph about the Lascaux caves was written by Georges Bataille.

Much, of course, was made of the 20,000 year-old art found (or re-rediscovered) in 1940 at Lascaux and other caves in the Dordogne region. It fed into fine artists’ obsessions with ‘primitive’ cultures, as well as providing an argument that art had always been important, perhaps pre-dating spoken language, and allowed much conjecture about art as magic, celebration…

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Oz

Jane Dougherty's avatarJane Dougherty Writes

For day 16 of Paul Brookes’ April poetry challenge, a poem inspired by all three images that you can see here, and read all the submissions, of course.

Oz

Look on my works
only their images
kept for posterity

ye Mighty
have set the world alight
built heaps of sand

and despair
yet the despair is yours
there is none here amid the ruins

nor buried forgotten deep

for hope rises from the flames
and a desert of sand
will fill your mouths.

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Day 16, Ekphrastic Challenge, My poem, Seashore Summers

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

Inspired by JPL16

Seashore Summers

Seashore summers, oyster shell skies, salty-wet breezes,
and sun-gold beaches—an unquestioned invitation to dig—
and you did,
creating a tidepool community of castles, schools, families of
calcite exoskeletons and imagination–
and when you stopped,
the gulls grabbed your sandwich
with a laugh,
and that became part of the stories we tell.

I am once again participating in Paul Brookes’ April Ekphrastic Challenge. Each day, I will post my poem(s) here. You can see the art and read the other responses by going to Paul’s site here.

The artists are Gaynor Kane, John Phandal Law, and Anjum Wasim Dar. Thank you for your wonderful and inspiring art!

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Drop in by Pratibha Castle

Nigel Kent's avatarNigel Kent - Poet and Reviewer

I’ve been looking forward to this one for a while, so I’m doubly delighted to say that this week’s drop in is by Pratibha Castle to reflect on her impressive debut collection, A Triptych of Birds & A Few Loose Feathers.

This poem, which first appeared on One Hand Clapping a couple of years back, and later in Spilling Cocoa Over Martin Amis, like many of my poems, was inspired by an image from childhood.

I was with my father one morning when he was digging a plot of earth. While he took a break, a robin turned up. Not unusual, when there is a chance of worms. There was, of course, a spade. My father’s name was Patrick. St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, is indeed rumoured to have driven the snakes from the isle of Poets and Bards. But my mother was the one who left…

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