Thomas Clark

 

 

 

A Hero’s Deith

 

Still he shidders, an staunds wi his swuird, an threitens,

kiverin wi breuken shield his kist’s remains,

nou, his een are plowt intae infineet shaidae,

spirin frae lips that lin thair hero’s sang.

Faur awa, twa seelent raens watch

The warriour arise wi shaidae weengs.

In the nicht o thae weengs, his een, bricht as day,

as flicht unnertaken, intae the lip o sky.

 

 

 

The Craws

 

Ower the hime o battle,

An the jargle o warriours,

Passes a slaw beat o weengs;

An oorie craik is haurd

As the twa craws come,

Messengers daurk an divine,

And laund on the shooders o God,

An speak tae his ear.

 

 

In Valhalla

 

A reid hime rings. Shields an spears a-dundert

intae a lang, uncannie rair.

Fae gapin mooths, the bluidy wounds sproot

purpie rivers.

An smuirichs, an lauchter,

An a mort-heid fou

o mead, for whilk

burnin wi fiver, deid warriours thirst.

 

 

Thomas Clark is a Glaswegian poet, writer and filmmaker whose work has most recently been featured in Lallans, Southlight, The Eildon Tree, New Voices Press and Dream Catcher amongst others. He can be found at twitter.com/ClashCityClarky.

 

Note: These poems are free translations into Scots dialect of originals by the Bolivian poet Ricardo Jaimes Freyre.

 

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Helen Birtwell

 

Rescue

 

They’d found him as usual up Pendle Hill,

and as usual the police car stopped at number 26.

 

Here we are Mrs Higginbottom, safe and sound.

The young policeman spoke gently as he guided his passenger.

 

Josh was wearing his choir suit and stiff butterfly collar -

proper Sunday attire for these last sixty years.

 

He’d a fine bass, had been choirmaster

at Carr Road Baptists, practically all his life.

 

Tricking Florrie with the pills had been easy,

as was setting out for Sabden, his birthplace.

 

He sang All Things Bright and Beautiful

as he made for the purple headed mountain.

 

She tenderly helped him inside.

Anything you’d like Josh – mean and potato pie?

 

Aren’t thee Florrie Lindley?

and don’t thee think it’s time we were wed?

 

 

Helen Birtwell has scribbled to not much account all her life. After gaining a B.A.Hons.in English Lit as a mature student of 55 and a Creative Writing Course organised by U.E.A.,she developed an an interest  in writing poetry and is stll doing so

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David Marshall

 

 

The Hunters in the Snow

 

After Pieter Breughel the Elder

 

I love the perspective, the trees all straight,

Four horizontal lines, dark, receding.

 

The sense of cold creeping out of the frame,

Frozen; a picture in time and place.

 

A child watching the fire in the foreground,

Two stokers, a man lifting a table.

 

Poor pickings for hunters in winter,

Even the dogs follow dejectedly.

 

On the horizon by jagged mountains,

A bird dips, caught between sky and the snow.

 

 

 

David Marshall is a UK based poet and teacher. His poetry is influenced strongly by art, music and the things around him, usually people he meets on the London underground or his cats. He has been published by the e-zines Mardibooks, Whisker and The Crocodile and New Cartography, as well as in print with Miracle Magazine. This is his website.

 

 

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Dick Jones

 

The Sheds

 

Sheds: haunches nestled into

banked earth.  Cow parsley, ragwort,

bedding high sides.  Blunt faces

nose-ringed with hanging padlocks.

 

Inside, a stook of exhausted

spades, a knackered

wheelbarrow, face-down,

a crippled bike, kept for spares.

 

Here, where the sheds are,

clocks run slow.  One man,

slouched in a doorway,

hand-rolls a cigarette.

 

Another taps out a briar

onto a windowsill

and then repacks the bowl.

Rapt, he stares across the match flame.

 

Kids roll and scatter,

break like high-tide

at the allotment’s edge.

They watch, uncomprehending,

 

the semaphore of sweet-peas,

rocking, bean-rows, carrot-tops;

the closed and secret faces

of the sheds.

 

The sun goes down

behind the recreation ground,

Breaking ranks, shadow-wrapped,

the houses sidle in.

 

 

 

 

Dick Jones has been published in a number of magazines, print and online, including Orbis, The Interpreter’s House, Poetry Ireland Review, Qarrtsiluni, Westwords, Mipoesias, Three Candles, Other Poetry, Rattlesnake and Ouroboros Review. In 2010 he received a Pushcart nomination for his poem Sea Of Stars and his first collection, Ancient Lights, is published by Phoenicia Publishing

 

This poem first appeared in Other Poetry anthology Miracles and Clockwork 2005

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Daniel Roy Connelly

 

 

 

Songstress on Primetime Italian TV

 

Songstress what songstress

I see svelte teenage girls

in bikinis gyrating

while men watch

& women clap hands

in time to the band who

are all men

no they’re definitely lip-synching

in fact not even

 

damn                                    adverts

 

next up there are svelte teenage girls

in bikinis suspended

from meat hooks

while men in butchers’ hats

slap price tags on their arses

well not really from meat hooks but

you certainly get an idea of something

 

 

 

Daniel Roy Connelly was born in England but has spent much of his adult life being educated in Italy, India, Bangladesh, The USA and Scotland. Formerly a British diplomat, he has been an academic since 1999. He is currently an assistant professor of English Literature and Theatre at John Cabot University and The American University of Rome.

 

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