Monthly Archives: September 2013
Thomas Clark
Waterside The swans in twos would sail along, Along the grimy pier; The winds were wet; the seas were strong; The captain smelt like beer; The harbour-master hummed a song And hauled a salty rope among The passengers and gear. … Continue reading
Edwin Stockdale
The Specksioneer ‘Th’ whales hasn’t mended their manners, as you call it,’ said Charley Kinraid; ‘but th’ ice is not to be spoken lightly on.’ Elizabeth Gaskell, Sylvia’s Lovers (1863) Sylvia is asleep, pictures Charley and his profession. She thinks … Continue reading
Victoria Kelsey: Two poems
WHEN CONCEIT DIES I. When conceit dies I will kneel upon a doorstep grass in my mouth and beg forgiveness. II. This is how battles end, one adversary walks trudging weakness with offerings of plated humility. III. Wounds of war … Continue reading
Dora Wright
Hip Hip Hooray Av been tae see the doctor wae the pain thats in ma hip he said its wear and tear… ah said its gein me gyp he said tae try some physio tae see if that wid help … Continue reading
Bradley McIlwain
Reunion Once, at a wedding, I saw you after a long absence and a few glasses of red, the colour of your gown in moonlight; on the balcony I stumbled undressed your eyes with my heart Do you remember the murmurs of butterflies nestled in a … Continue reading
Dorothy Gallagher
Quietly So Not with razors do you cut a slice thin of the other’s flesh. Nor with flush-fuelled rage and table thumping fists, an alpha chest laid bare to scare off anyone who’d dare to stare you out. No shouts. … Continue reading
John Murphy
REDSHIFT He keeps a black hole in his pocket, brings it out and shakes it loose so his daughter can see it. Seeds of thought and memory are sucked in one by one. He spreads his arms to dance with … Continue reading
Madelaine Cave
GATHERED TOGETHER In September brambles bear their beaded fruit Bitter green berries shed white petticoats And blush demurely, then swell and ripen Through the colours of sunset to midnight sky Now succulent and sweet, they shine like jewels And flaunt … Continue reading
John Irvine
Address Is Approximate (Copenhagen) Tailgated crones ride elongated stems like sinister Giacometti figures. Imperious scarves bandage white, bloodless necks as they weave these entranced streets in a tortured tapestry of secret signals, dark arts and hats – hovering, royally, on … Continue reading
The Open Mouse 