Monthly Archives: November 2013
Hilary Graham
I’ve been working on haibun poems with the Eyemouth writers’ group Eyewrite recently, and this is the first of two contributions from members. Passing Cape Horn; a haibun Salt-haired and slightly insane after a wild run up from the south, … Continue reading
Ashby McGowan
Crow Her feathers grasp at the cold air, as she climbs high In an asymmetrical sky Against the winter storm, she fights, then glides Then up again, then down she slides. She seems, a splash of black paint on a … Continue reading
Elizabeth Angus
The Buachaille An upthrust craggy pyramid, your rocky head hid in cloud: my boot slid across your flanks. You didn’t feel me. I clung to your stony face, watched shadows chase the sun, and race towards the night: You didn’t … Continue reading
Nabin Chhetri
Fire Grey dust covers the city like a shroud. Leaves roll like wheels, driven by the wind that moans at my window, closed for winter. Days fold, like a lacework of memories. Each layer touches like skin. You have been … Continue reading
Imogen Forster
Road by the Sea The dusty pink bloom of salt cedars, tamarisk mousse, billowing like cotton-waste across the sandy margins. In this heat one intake of breath might choke us. A dark pomegranate bush lit with a few flaming flowers … Continue reading
Ali Znaidi
Sapphic Debris As if Sappho was seductively slumbering under a tree. Hungry worms sharpened their teeth & ate the leaves. Nothing was left but remnants of leaves lyrically swaying in the ether. She woke up & wrote another stanza … Continue reading
Robert Nisbet
The Old Champion He played for The Town, in the season they won the championship. In the meantime there were the shimmering sixties, confusions of scent and sound. There were the kids and the seventies, parents’ evenings, puzzlement, homework … Continue reading
David Coldwell
Apple Trees In spring they planted three apple trees on common land with space beneath piles of stones moved from a wall for more in autumn. Each of the trees carefully selected so as to pollinate the other; cards rattled … Continue reading
Russell Jones
The First Kiss What a disappointment. Nothing like the movies, nothing like the mind. A mass of muscles writhing, an awkward hand on a tightened arse at the under-sixteens “Angel and Demon Night” What a farce. Is this the limbo … Continue reading
Anne Dunford
Ironing Nellie’s Hanky One hanky, edged with tatting, lies on the ironing board. Tatting, not tat or tatty, but lace, lovingly crafted by Nellie. The hankies I bought for her, instructed ‘plain, nothing fancy,’ bought from ‘Hanky Man’- there each … Continue reading
The Open Mouse 