All I Could Steal
I traced the line of you:
Said my goodbyes
despite the gale,
imagined your head, bobbing with
as my heart grabbed at imaginary
that trailed helplessly
through the moss-
felt the tome of the sea
as it lashed its pages
against my carbine.
I thought that I might cry then,
in the salt wind
and so broke the seal on a bottle of
to drown the lump
in my throat.
Drunk, I stumbled home through
and felt spite
stirring in the spine
of my tongue-
I taunted all the ghosts, and sang
‘When the big ship sails on the alley-
Nick Power has recently had perfect-bound book Small Town Chase published by erbacce-press, and is in the process of writing a new collection. He has had poems published at M58, erbacce-press, The Camel Saloon, Boscome Revolution and Jarg Magazine.
He has worked with actors such as Maxine Peake and John Simm, and recorded their readings of poems from Small Town Chase. They are available to listen to here: https://soundcloud.com/nickpowerpoetry
Spring arrived with a thud at the window
and the loose neck of a sudden corpse.
I found it in the mad sunshine, with eyes
snapped shut and wings tucked in;
a feathered grub plucked belly side up.
Its static talons clung stiff
to the breeze as I held its tiny weight
on my palm. Digging through
severed roots, I shored an only grave,
fit for a runt
and placed the prim body
at its cold end. I spilled the mound
over, to clog the pit,
inviting blind slitherers back
to pick down the carcass -
its restless heart still wet.
Now the daffs bow their heads
and the robin waits
on the wall,
keen to beak the turnings.
Dan Stathers is from Kingsbridge in South Devon. After studying creative writing at the Open University, Dan was awarded the William Hunter Sharpe Memorial Scholarship by The University of Edinburgh (for poetry). He likes football and Border Terriers.
This poem was first published in Obsessed With Pipework, 2013Read More
for Ben Detenber
Somebody’s wrong on the Internet, and everyone else
is grabbing a mouse to be sure to get in on the clicks.
Some guy in Johannesburg already knocked down his Coke and destroyed
his keyboard, but luckily not his computer. He looks at
his screen, and all he can do is stare at untruth while the phone’s
ringing the tech-support number. And now he’s on hold:
music he’s always despised is worming its wily way
into his brain. Can you hear it? He doesn’t have
an icicle’s chance in a Richtersveld summer. He’s lost to the music
that somebody else in Geneva can hear and ignore.
Natalie’s reading the page, and she’s changing her mind even though
her English has never improved as much as she’d like.
Maybe she wouldn’t be falling for lies she was reading in French.
From her apartment, she has a good view of the lake
except that this morning the fog is so thick she can barely see
the building going up on the other side of the street.
Her coffee is ready; she carries her cup to the window to think,
watching the shivering people below as they wait
for buses to take them to work, where they’ll turn on their screens and discover
that somebody on the Internet is wrong.
Andrew Shields lives in Basel, Switzerland. His first full-length collection, Thomas Hardy Listens to Louis Armstrong, is being published by Eyewear in June 2015. Twitter: @ShieldsAndrew Blog: http://andrewjshields.blogspot.comRead More
On the Train to Stafford (OMG)
While the Leicestershire countryside
ambled by the window
(Oh my god!)
its lush green hues and rolling hills
sparkling in the sun’s glow
(Oh my god – no!)
beneath old church spires reaching
up into an azure sky
(Oh. My. GO-OD! You’re kidding?)
that soared above thatched roofs of quaint
villages that passed on by
(OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!)
I thought about the peace and quiet
that made these journeys such
(No! No! No! OH-MY GO-OD!)
a pleasant memory of my youth
before the advent of touch
(EEIIUUW!!! Oh my-god)
screens and mobile phones on trains
to distract from scenic country lanes
Omigod! Omigod! Oh my god!
George Fripley writes poetry and fiction. He also blogs on whatever comes to mind. He has had a dozen poems published both in the UK and Australia and has also published a collection of poems entitled Silence… available though Amazon.co.uk. He blogs at www.anothergrumpycommuter.wordpress.comRead More
A field has sprung up on the first floor landing
where a bull cranes his large-boned head
towards her, disbudded horns nudging the wool,
sunlight tinkering through the grasses.
She tries to coax him, wheedle him down
with fresh greens. But now
he holds her with his black stare …
head lowered, blood beating, thunder
about to bellow through the walls
as the clock hand shudders … her life
a cardboard box of limits, of scales,
tape measures and set squares;
so when the bull-browed god strolled in –
bull god of rain and fecundating power,
of exuberant storm winds – she saw
only bovine; then stricken
in his glare, she’s held there.
Linda Rose Parkes was born in Jersey, Channel Island, and studied literature at U.E.A. Poet and lyricist, her third collection Familiars was published by Hearing Eye in November, 2014.