‘Truth’ for National Poetry Day: Linda Rose Parkes, Marc Woodward, K. S. Moore




A True Version

honest to god
i can’t bear
to look at myself
in the mirror

i stalk her she’s my new poem in her fitted coat and high heels on the number 10 bus         put bars on the lines

last night
i told him
Megan’s seeing
a married guy

in the morning she’ll wake to cadence and pauses    rhythms of wingbeat flocking the page

that’s good
he says
if it
her happy

she’ll soon forget her passionless marriage when i leave her here for others to find

then i say so you
don’t mind
if i start fucking

let’s hope they bring food    let’s trust they bring fresh hope   that she isn’t alone in this fortress i’ve built her

that’s how low
we’ve sunk

i hear calling in my sleep     she wants to go home    she wants her own grievance    

i can’t
to see
these days

she wants the truth of her own shadow 


Linda Rose Parkes lives in the Channel Islands and has published four collections, the latest, This Close, was launched last winter. She continues to run poetry workshops and is also a painter.




Confessional Poetry

So how long have you truly felt this way?
When we converse about your infancy
I have the sense there’s more you need to say.
Sadly I think you’re withholding on me.
It’s always the same. Novels say too much,
they go on and on, I can’t shut them up.
But you Poems? Always I’m left guessing.
You just smirk there. Hinting, half confessing.
Yeah, we both know you’ve done a little time;
you’ve stolen stuff to get yourself a ‘line’.
And this thing about being a sonnet
in a past life. Just grow up – be honest!
All poems can change – and that includes you.
Of course you must really, truly, want to…



Marc Woodward is a poet and musician living in the rural West Country.He has been widely published in journals, anthologies and online sites.  His collections include  A Fright of Jays available from Maquette Press (2015) and Hide Songs from Green Bottle Press (2018). www.marcwoodwardpoetry.blogspot.co.uk




What I have to Say

Can I tell you
before it’s tarnished?
Before the lichen crust
absolves me of need to share?

Well, listen:
this is a bud of a story,
a soft shoot, weepy-
green leaf of a dream;
it is all yours
if you hear

what I have to say
is blooming on my tongue.
It is rare,
it is syrup
in my pharynx.

As it spills,
I feel it leave
like a lover
with an eye on my heart;
with a tug
at the tears
held back
from my teens.

Can’t reign it in,
this runaway . . .




K. S. Moore‘s poetry has recently appeared in New Welsh Review, Spontaneity, Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Stinging Fly and Southword. Work is upcoming in Other Terrain and Atlanta Review. Shortlists have included: Trim Poetry Competition and Americymru West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition.

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