Monthly Archives: January 2016
Anne Dunford
The Desk My hands rest on the desk that captures years of past use. Always drawn to words I can’t ignore them. They catch my eye again as I write. Overlooked at first as they weren’t very clear; faint penned … Continue reading
Neil Campbell: Haiku sequence
Haiku sequence By the tram stop On St Werburgh’s Road Unpicked blackberries Young boy kicking a ball Outside the football museum – will he play for City? Outside the museum A man in his fifties Falls off a skateboard The … Continue reading
Kriss Nichol
The Stripper’s Manual (all words from a B & Q leaflet on paint stripping) keep cool don’t work in hot weather as layers need to be removed it needs skill so don’t do it out of doors when windy remove … Continue reading
Bridget Khursheed: Two poems
Bridges seduced by burns Come with me, forget your fingers of mere, reeds and whitethroats – whole grass seed peace – the muir fall of autumn. Don’t you want to see the tidefast end of it all; stanchions stabbing the … Continue reading
Kerr McAndrew
Grey Oh those perfect winter mornings With the black silhouette of trees On that crisp silver sky And I’m walking down that familiar path To my grandparents’ house And though I’m cold I think of that warm feeling Of the … Continue reading
Byron Beynon: Two poems
The Heron The heron sieves the water with his eyes, eliminates the trick of light, side-glances this porous territory where he resides, a watchman wading the feeding grounds for his quota each day, standing still, concentrating on the wrinkled flow … Continue reading
Colin Crewdson
Moon rises over the occupied privy A mountain barrier to the inflow of the dark tide, Sail Mhor, the round lump, sits beneath the force of the full moon , a full stop. No more watching, expecting change: this is … Continue reading
Beth McDonough: two poems
Haar Under this shroud anything passes. This mastless drift of ships dreams turgid wakes slopped by mud on weed slime haven walls. In ports, seeped back to faded maps, steeples disappear. Streets drain into hidden homes where no-one fillets scrimshaw … Continue reading
The Open Mouse 