A poem from ‘Sunspots’ by Simon Barraclough

 Violet violent as an ‘ultra’ or inviolate as a saint? The reverbs from a viola playing purple passages. A Parma Violet on your tongue, like the contents of your grandma’s handbag, reminding you that childhood is neither sweet nor sour and never tastes quite right; the elusive umami of mommy and daddy. A triolet seems apposite but th’imperial cloak will not be hemmed by … Continue reading A poem from ‘Sunspots’ by Simon Barraclough

‘Celeriac Heart’ by Simon Barraclough

  Celeriac Heart sits knobbly in the fridge with my lungs and ribs. I don’t know what to do with it. Peel it, dice it, boil it, mash it, serenade it with razor strings of mandolin? It goes off. It’s binned. Next time I’ll search for recipes online.   (from Neptune Blue (Salt 2011). See an animated version of this poem here)     Simon … Continue reading ‘Celeriac Heart’ by Simon Barraclough