Wanderlust There’s a table in a corner of the officewhere we deposit the treats we bring backfrom our travels; trips to the seaside,summer holidays to Spain and Greece.I remember when Max went to Vietnam,brought back delicious peanut candywhich she said was handmade.She’s been all over, India and Cambodia,Thailand a few times, Australia,lots more places I […]
Wanderlust by Ben Banyard — The Poetry Shed
The English Strain, Robert Sheppard, Shearsman. 2021, ISBN: 9781848617469, £12.95 Bad Idea, Robert Sheppard, Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2021, ISBN: 9781912211746, £11.00 ‘What is badly needed at the present moment is some small Malherbe of free verse to sit on the sonnet and put it out of action for two hundred years at least. […]
The English Strain and Bad Idea by Robert Sheppard: A Review — Elliptical Movements
The enthralling collectionCut Flowersby Harriet Tarlo cleverly combines form and content in hybrid structures in which the horizontal lines intersect with a vertical reading. This form allows different possibilities that coexist at physical and conceptual levels. The poems are also beautifully illustrated by Chloe Bonfield, though they were not created in collaboration with the artist. In her previous works, Tarlo collaborated with many artists. For example, in the exhibition ‘A Fine Day for Seeing’ at Southwark Park Galleries she worked with Judith Tucker in reference to the artwork ‘Dark marsh: silvered out’ (2021) in relation to her poem ‘Winter Saltwort’. The illustrations in this collection strongly express the essentiality of the writings, whose style is a minimalist one:
cut flowers why would they when
it came to itlasting longer
long daysbefore dawn sees
a fair lightcrows & robins upright
on the walllook out, learn to travel in
deep…
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Day Four – Jenny Greenteeth
I, Ginny Greenteeth
I, Ginny Greenteeth invite all of you,
boys and girls to dance and play on this green
mat, I’ve laid out especially for you.
Look how the sun shines on it. The wild sheen
invites your feet to press upon it, fetch
football to its wonderful pitch, not
scuffed up and muddy but fresh and fine, stretch
your legs, leap on this cool turf goal spot.
Don’t read those old, battered out of date signs.
Don’t listen to uncool mam and dad bleat
to you about playing safe. Where’s the fun time
in that? Risk it for a biscuit. Compete.
I will take you where you can play all day.
Step on this duckweed, don’t do as they say.
-Paul Brookes
Down By The Sea
Dayglo buoys cavorting
in the swell of a passing rib
splashing riotous colour
scattering raucous gulls
Selfie snapping girls
in Primark fluorescent fashions
strut and preen along the prom
for tombstoning boys
who are already gone
to claim the adulation…
Their prize…
from the grockles whose eyes
can’t believe the sight they are seeing
as an empty plastic bottle
whirls wildly…
in the centre of a circle of ripples
where moments before
a young boy punctured the meniscus
on his way to the other side
Attention seeking lights
flash bright actinic blue
splashing electric highlights
on the pale faces of the silent crowd
-Peter Roe – August 2019
Bios And Links
-Peter Roe
lives in Bridport on the Jurassic coast. He is a prize winning performance poet, artistic, autistic, computer geek and technology nerd. A former Bard of Dorchester and host of Bridport spoken word night Apothecary. Founding editor and publisher of the Jawbone Collective. A self confessed nerd and technology junkie who likes to shatter peoples misconceptions about Aspie computer geeks! In July 2021 Peter was Highly Commended for his forthcoming collection “About Time”. He has been published in ‘Siren Poets’ in 2020. Short listed In Blandford Poetry Prize 2019, Runner up in Bridport Short Story Slam 2018, Finalist in the Apples and Snakes South-West Slam 2018, long listed in ‘Writing Without Limits’ for The Yeovil Literary Prize 2017 and winner of The Western Gazette Best Local Writer 2017. He has been widely published online and in print. Has two published collections of poetry. His debut poetry collection ‘Technology Bytes Back’ (2018) comes from that place where technology meets people and the inevitable mayhem that follows. His second collection “i’m in Love with My Barista” came out in July 2019 to coincide with a series of Fringe events. and show ‘Jawbone’. His fringe event ‘North Verses South’ for 2020 was postponed…
Day Three – “Freybug”
https://writinginmargins.weebly.com/home/fact-checking-the-freybug
Freybug
“Be not afraid of fray-bugs which lie in
the way.” so English martyr describes me
1555. I’m a frightening
obstacle to overcome. Popery
railed against, authority imprisoned
him, requested he recant, he refused.
They ordered him burnt He welcomed
hugged stake said it was cross of Christ. And loosed,
” Welcome Everlasting life!” Not afraid
of me when he met me in various
ways. Burnt February of year he made
mention of me his words always pious.
Some say I’m reason, today’s way who blocks
fanaticism, shows easy paths plot.
-Paul Brookes
Day Two – The Erl-king
KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA
Statue depicting the Erlking in the ancient graveyard of Dietenhausen, in Keltern, Germany.
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.
Erl-king
Hear the gust music my air blows through this reed?
Inhabits your ear, delights all your senses.
A new birdsong, fresh animal track, beads
a sprightly beat, warm summer days, tenses
new sugar tastes on your tongue, blood hums your bones.
Now you see me, in rich purple, rare blue.
Your mouth opens, I reach out, touch your grown
laughter, imprison your youth in situ.
I am your first child who needs shelter, hugs,
clothes, your patience and long conversations.
I am your elderly parents that tug
at their recall more and more frustration.
Enticed by freedom find yourselves in chains.
I laugh and play a sprightly flute on your pains.
-Paul Brookes
Day One. The Green Man
Page from the Sketchbook of Villard de Honnecourt
-David Russell Mosley
Autumnal Green Man
Spiders thread my lips lightly together.
My leaves become their actual colours
and fall from my face, red, yellow, ochre.
My voice rustle of green leaves is no more.
I am the scent of ripe apple and pear.
I am the rain on sodden bark, slow time.
My days shorter, dark sooner, light rarer.
I am burning leaves. Face of Harvest time.
After the fires, my mouth nose and eyes spout green
shoots, new leaves bud and grow on my barkskin.
I flourish once more. An aspect of dream.
Memory of ice. Warmth without, within.
In stone, wood or paper I decay lose
definition, but still my image grows
-Paul Brookes
Bios And Links
-David Russell Mosley
is a poet and theologian living in Washington state. When not teaching or writing, David likes to wander in the woods, drink a good scotch, and smoke a pipe.
I’m particularly pleased to invite, fellow Open University Society Poet, Ross McGivern, to reflect on a poem from his inspirational Fragments and Stages.
As is customary I confess my indecision as to which poem I should present and how the heck would I write about it. Pity the poor poem! First they witness fellow darlings killed and then look on as I pick a teacher’s pet. But here we: A Respite of Bluebells.
‘we navigate paths studded by ferns’
I am unsure if this is my favourite from or indeed representative of Fragments and Stages as a whole. I suspect this stems from how long I have spent with the poems and how I view it conceptually, especially as I have lived with it since 2016. I never intended to write a collection of poems about this subject – I found the thought of doing so exploitative, but…
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Many thanks to Matthew Bulfer who has reviewed Carte Blanche for Westerly. Click here for the REVIEW.
-Val Bowen
After the Late Train (Chiswick, 1970)
And you walk home
Under the A4 subway
Cos there’s no other way
Footsteps behind you
Might just be someone homeward bound like you
Or maybe not
When you increase your pace
Their pace quickens too
And your heart quickens
Don’t turn round
Don’t look, keep walking
Out the other side now
Street lights. Houses.
No sound behind you. Maybe they’ve gone
Don’t turn round
Car door slams and engine starts
Drives slowly. Doesn’t gain speed
Slowly, slowly, just behind you
Will it be a chat-up line?
Rehearse your clear response
Or will you just be grabbed?
Check houses for friendly lights. Run up a driveway
Any driveway. Safe haven. Heart pounds.
Stand on step. Turn round. See the car speed off
Breathe. Knees bend. Stifle sob
Why?
Outcomes to think about
As you continue on your way
You can stay home and let the fear win, or
You can prepare, with alarm, pepper spray, knuckle duster rings
If you knew where to get such things.
What you can’t do is tell your story
Because nothing happened
Except the pounding of your heart
And the taste of blood in your throat as you ran.
Nothing happened.
This time.
-Amanda Samm
Bios and Links
-Amanda Samm
has lived in South Yorkshire most of her life except for a short time in London in her teens. She has enjoyed writing poetry from a young age and has self-published three booklets, the most recent being a poetry booklet recording her experience of the pandemic.
Amanda is married with three children and six grandchildren.
Amanda enjoys sudoku, crosswords, pub quizzes and karaoke. Since retiring, she has taken up acrylic and water colour painting, as well as spending more time in the garden.
The Wombwell Rainbow 