Helgafell There is a quarry in my heart. The lovely lanes divide. One humps from Upperwood to Uppertown and Ember Lane, and Ember Farm (my family’s farm, which has not been our farm for fifty years). At Bonsall’s market cross the clot of stone sends tassels out towards the Barley Mow, the moor, and down … Continue reading ‘Helgafell’ by Tony Williams
Tag: Poetry
‘If you Hear it Thunder don’t run Under a Tree’ by Seraphima Kennedy
If you Hear it Thunder don't run Under a Tree It was the sound: those fat gold drops that fell from heaven. Pennies, she said, but though her voice was quiet, the brass held dreams of benjamins, bold shopping sprees, silk shirts, mink coats slim fingers stacked with diamonds. You had to go through showers … Continue reading ‘If you Hear it Thunder don’t run Under a Tree’ by Seraphima Kennedy
‘Laminations I’ by Mark Fiddes
Laminations I Amid the crashing, you missed next door's soul shooting free of rubble deflected off the skip with a clunking blue flash towards Croydon. Perhaps it meant to go elsewhere. They stack salvaged bricks in wobbly columns out back like a garden in Pompei. A pyre gyres plastic black cremating many decades of botchery … Continue reading ‘Laminations I’ by Mark Fiddes
‘Pineapple as a metaphor for life’ by Ben Banyard
Pineapple as a metaphor for life Yes, it’s still sitting on the window ledge Gruff, rough, browning leaves. The Best Before Date was last Thursday. It knows it’s a project, not a quick job like cutting your fingernails; this requires commitment, concentration. While intact the pineapple mocks me: we’re locked in a game of chicken … Continue reading ‘Pineapple as a metaphor for life’ by Ben Banyard
Two poems by Dean Atta
April Evening in Cyprus Your grandfather draws your attention to the news; the story, a black flamingo has landed on the island. An expert on screen explaining it is the opposite of an albino. Too much melanin, he says. Camera pans the salt lake full of pink but the eye is drawn to that one … Continue reading Two poems by Dean Atta
‘Full Circle’ by Santino Prinzi
Full Circle I stood and looked through the glass kitchen door panels into the living room, where our cat laid on its side. Vomit and faeces stained the grey carpet, and I cried. My brother cried too, and he was five, so my mother lied and said he’s sleeping. My mother scooped our cat into … Continue reading ‘Full Circle’ by Santino Prinzi
‘Julep’ by Alex Bell
Julep Today it is too hot to touch a person. Things prickle. The grass is the fur of a warm-blooded animal. We walk into a bar and order juleps. It is a drink we associate with spells, with corset-headaches. I then prescribed her an emetic, some opening powders, and a mint julep. A man is … Continue reading ‘Julep’ by Alex Bell
‘Survivors’ by Charlotte Eichler
Our aunts drink tea for hours – they have no mirrors or clocks but each other’s faces tell the time. We wonder why their hands shake and rattle the cups in their saucers. We prowl the flat – the hallway dark with years of coats, the dining room with carpets on the walls. Each … Continue reading ‘Survivors’ by Charlotte Eichler
‘The Iron Children’ by Rachel Plummer
The Iron Children Along our street the iron children come, cast and wrought. The road rings like a struck cymbal below their clanging feet. For luck we clank our coins into their mouths, all dumb as metal, hear them rattle down and thrum the stainless engines deep inside each quick gullet. They flood the street … Continue reading ‘The Iron Children’ by Rachel Plummer
‘Willard Wigan’ by Mat Riches
Willard Wigan His miniature sculptures are like “passing a pin through a bubble without bursting it.” - Willard Wigan & “Ant-eye level art” - Maev Kennedy – Guardian 13.04.00 It can be like balancing an ocean liner on a granule of sugar. It’s like passing a pin through a bubble without bursting it. Well … Continue reading ‘Willard Wigan’ by Mat Riches
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