Monthly Archives: July 2017

Seth Crook

Tor Mor, Look East No great inspiration in this naming.   Tor Mor, Bruach Mhor: big hill. Our distant Ben More tempts a gaze. From here I can spot un-roaded ruins:   Wintertown, populated by foxgloves, doorless doorways, ambling hooves. … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

John Grey

  HER NAME The entire class detest the eyes that match so evenly the brown cheeks and brow and glitter like the gemstones that dangle from her coffee-colored arms. But much worse is her tongue. She can’t say her name … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Charles Kell

Bandit Hand     Grab the grackle’s wet wing festering in the lemon twilight. I’ll dip this lit finger in the flood & finally sign the court document. In our shrinking backyard stands the falling swing-set where we held A.A. … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Robert Nisbet

Encounter   Widower Davies craves an easefulness, sits by the hum of fires. It’s near to spring and it’s light now, light in the evenings. The blackbird’s back, the lyricist. His song meets the moment without seam, would scarcely disconcert … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Julian Dobson: Two poems

Divette beach Change comes golden, grain by grain, on a spent spring afternoon, sea icy warm, lichen sunflowering black granite, a half-breeze cradling a small oblong of heat; change arrives in finger-strokes of waves, the stop of a gull’s cry, shoes placed side by side, a half-breath, … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Cathy Whitfield

Oystercatchers They’re commoner now.  Since the crash you see them flocking together, demanding their rights.  ‘Me, me, me!’ But these sharp-suited opportunists have come down in the world. See those bloodshot eyes? That’s from slumming it with the hoi-polloi, grubbing … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Paul Waring

A Long Walk the Irish Sea and Mersey meet with iron fists winter still slices through March days that make cloaked crows distrust black clouds that blanket Liverpool towers in ghost-town mist and haunt high above this grave where New … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 1 Comment