3 acceptances today.

I was so surprised and pleased today when the post brought me three acceptance letters for poems I had recently submitted. I would be more pleased but they are from Forward Press. I know this is a vanity publishing house but I have been sending stuff to them since I first started writing and couldn't tell a decent publisher or magazine from a bad one. Still, I don't buy the books they are pushing and have to assume that as they actually send out paperwork to be signed and a proof-sheet that they do use the work. In fact I did once see a friends copy of one of the books I hadn't bought and it did have my poem in it. I suppose I feel a little uneasy as some people scorn presses like Forward. On the other hand it does allow new poets to get something in print. Perhaps I should just ignore other people and their opinions of Vanity Publishing and Self-publishing. So far this year I have had 23 poems accepted by a varied range of places. I must be doing something right so I think I'll carry on regardless.

four & Twenty exercises.

I mentioned the Four & Twenty website recently. The object is to be as creative and poetic as possible using only four lines and twenty words. I tried this out and it's a good discipline especially if you don't usually write very short poems.I don't except the odd Haiku. Here are some of the things I came up with.I've submitted a few as well so I shall be interested to see if any are accepted by four & Twenty.


Leaves.

Blue sky shines warmly down.
On our sun-kissed lives today.
Soon autumn leaves, twirling, brown.
Will indicate summer’s swift decay.


Dreams.

My dreams in random cruelty
Invade my nights of peace.
I gasp and turn fruitlessly
Wrapped in damp twisted sheets.


Thoughts.

The river twists so sinuously
A metaphor for dreaming thoughts.
That wriggle so inside me
Like twenty silver fishes caught.


Stories.

Stories draw me closely in.
Unfolding tales of adventure found.
My imagination now slowly spins.
Detached from life’s solid ground.


Letter.

Words lie upon a page.
Sent in love most secret.
Response would take an age.
I shall simply keep it.


Moonlight.

Moonlight falls like silver mist.
I walk into the evening.
My shadow dances behind me.
A sprite at my heels.

A few more poems that have appeared in magazines.

About Edna St. Vincent Millay.


This poet speaks and
Her words slice into me.
Slow and tender like
A silken thread, pulled
Taut against the soft skin

Of a peach. The pain is
Inflicted gently without
Malice. Washed by tears
Slow and salty. The wound
Cannot close once the words

Have entered. They probe and
Swell. Expanding inside
Those blood- red chambers
Until they become absorbed
Into the very fibres of my heart.


An Adrenalin Moment.

The canine dug deep.
Penetrated skin in a split second.
It left a small grinning mouth upon
the back of my hand. Blood welled.
Trickled like strawberry sauce down
the pale slope of a scoop of ice-cream.
I saw the gleam of tendon.

Showing like a slender white worm.
This unexpected view into the workings
of my hand was strange and fascinating.
I felt adrenalin ripple through me and pain
shot simultaneously to my fingertips
and elbow. I leapt back and told myself
I should not have tried to stroke that dog.


By The Beach-fire.

We sat on the beach.
Backs tucked into hollows.
Scooped out of the peaked dunes.
The fire we had built flickered

And drew our eyes into its depths.
Sparks escaped from resinous pine
And leapt like twisting fireflies
Into the approaching dark.

The end of the day trailed its skirts
Of pink and blue and mauve.
Then fell slowly, very slowly,
Over the dark horizon.

Competition entry.

I decided today to stop faffing about and do the absolute, final, finishing re-edit of my entries for the Cinnamon Press short writing competition. I have written four pieces for it. Mainly to get good value out of the four for ten quid entry fee and had got to the stage where looking at them was becoming a headache. I took the plunge and sent the stuff off.I am so glad that I have learned my way (partially) round a computer. Cinnamon wanted entries as attachments and copies sent to two of their people, plus a biog and the usual contact details. Payment was via PayPal. A year ago I wouldn't have been able to enter this via computer. I didn't know how to cut and paste, or to attach, or how to use PayPal. I'm pleased that I am still learning and that goes for writing and life in general. It would be lovely to have a piece chosen Haven't had much luck with Cinnamon Press, though I was short-listed for something of theirs a while ago. Fingers crossed.

a poem from the past.

Had a letter today from Aspire Magazine. I had submitted a few poems to them in January 2010. At the time they accepted a poem but wanted me to change part of it. I declined to do that and left it at that. Strangely, the letter that arrived this morning told me that they had included one of the other poems from that submission in their July 2011 Issue. Just shows that sometimes things can come back even after you have forgotten about them.

New site to look at.

Discovered the 'Four & Twenty' site today. Nothing to do with the famous Australian 'Four & Twenty Pies'. It's a site that asks for submissions of poems of four lines or less and only twenty words. If you like Haiku you'll probably like this. I did five of these little poems for an exercise(have to refine them of course) and found it an interesting thing to do to get the mind working. Sometimes working on a very short piece can make you focus quite sharply. You have to get down to the real meaning of each word and it can be a challenge. Have a go and see what you come up with.
Just Google Four and Twenty short form poetry and the site will be found.

I love this photo.

teazels in the field.

My cat is bonkers.

A few pictures.

Three more from the published poems list.

Voice of the Angel

I shall and always
watch over you.
With gently folded hands
and peaceful eyes.
My heart spills over with love.

I revel in happy excess,
Your shadow is my form.
Compassion warms my blood
and I see all.
I know your heart.

Your thoughts are mine.
Your hopes and fears
find their way to me.
Your guilt is also known and
the sum of every aspiration

hoped for or dreamt.
In the end, you will come to me.
I shall welcome you for ever
With open arms and
shining wings of pearl.



In a Frozen Place.

Winter passed cheerlessly.
Each hour a stone
that weighted their backs.
Each day the snow and hail
raked their cheeks.
They withdrew.
Sliding deep into their veins.
Curling into their hearts.
Heads heavy with the heft of darkness
Caused their eyes to close
And they clung to the red warmth
inside their mouths.
It was a time of attrition.
As nature attempted to scour
all signs of life from the face of the earth.
To splinter it into crystals
That whirled in the winds howling.
The people grew spines of ice.
Drew the blood up from their feet
Even as they purpled with cold.
They worked and slept.
Huddled like field mice
around the precious flame and in the spring
when the ice began to crack
and a little blue smeared the sky.
They raised their faces
And knew that they had won.







Broken.
(The Girl in the Care Home Garden)

The song could be heard across the garden.
Wafting through speckled Laurels.
Floating above cerise Rhododendrons.
always the same.

“Shine on Harvest Moon.” Incongruous words
carried on a voice drenched in melancholy.
The girl sang every day but only in solitude
Hidden by foliage. Enclosed by shrubbery.

I found her once. She would not speak.
Her eyes were splintered crystals, unfocussed,
Bleak. Her understanding fragmented. She moved on
into oblivion. Her mind scarred and broken.

New collection.

As my poem 'Men in Dark Coats' gets a good reaction I have an idea to write a collection based on the times and people surrounding that poem. It refers to when I was working as a Go-Go dancer in the nightclubs in Birmingham in the 1970's. I have listed the characters i need to write about and drafted a couple of poems. I think I'll make this my autumn project. I can work on it when I am recovering from my knee replacement op and on those cold and wet afternoons when the weather becomes something to avoid. I just have to let the memories slowly bubble to the surface and as it was so long ago it will take time.

On a different tack; I see that Forward Press who have published loads of anthologies are going into receivership. There's mutterings about something not quite right going on. I hope no-one has lost money buying books that contain their poem(s). They were always good for sending stuff you wanted to try out. I didn't buy the books after the first couple. Too much like paying to be published. Anyone know what's going on?

Three more poems from my list of work published.

A Dream with Conscience.


The dream breathed out a sigh.
Saddened by its dark form.
It could not choose its clothing
when emerging from its random
nightly birth. Its nightmarish garb

had caused a lake of fear and its
guilt was a sharp probe needling
under its skin. As it flowed away
from the weeping child it hoped
that it would not have to visit again.




Black Eyes.



We walk Orwellian streets
Bathed in the bland gaze
Of watching automatons.
That perch on poles,

Hide under eaves,
And follow our every move with
Black eyes grimy and glazed.
They are not tempered by reason or

Gifted with judgement, they
Simply spy and relay.
Sharing our faces with
Anonymous digital databases.

Keeping tags. Storing us away.
For future checks and reference.
As we pursue our lives
Wrapped in our ignorant innocence.


Here is the Feather Forecast.

Featured on the website of Richard Angwin. Weatherman on TV’s Points West news programme.

In forests there will be a hoot of Owls,
spreading out to certain barns and wooded places.
Whilst coastal areas will see Gulls sweeping in
in a dense fog of white.
These will blow ashore with the occasional smattering
of Tern and Guillemot.
Further inland, low pressure will deliver
a depression of crows to most areas.
There is a severe feather warning to all towns and cities.
As heavy squalls of pigeons move onto high buildings.
In the countryside blizzards of starlings will
make visibility difficult for a short time,
while an anabatic flow of Canada Geese
will hover over hills with a gradual move toward the south.
There is a possibility of low clouds of Magpies
backing to the west and an incoming cold front
will ruffle all blackbirds.
In the east, Grebes Bitterns and Godwits
will sweep over the fens, swiftly breaking up
as they meet warm air coming up from the south west.
All rivers will see a continuing flash of Kingfishers,
with a flurry of swans along the banks.
Meanwhile there may be a slow precipitation of finches
and all gardens will have a slight scatter of sparrows.
And that is the forecast for today.

Rejections.

Following last weeks successes comes two rejection emails this morning. Lines & Stars magazine has sent me a polite refusal and Saxifrage Press suggests that I need to have 'imaginative leaps to create tension and surprise the reader'. I will take this on board and see if I can apply it to the poems I submitted. There's always room for re-editing. They have also suggested that I re-submit in six month's saying 'there is much to love in these poems.' I really appreciate it when I receive a kind and well-thought out rejection like this. I have received some in the past that have been positively rude which is, to me, unnecessary and quite destructive. It's not easy to build up a skin thick enough to accept rejections without any emotional reaction. I do take most of them in my stride but of course it is easier when you can balance the bad ones with positive ones or even better with a few lovely acceptances. I keep a scrap-book now with my nice acceptance letters/emails in it. Then when I feel like the worst poet in the world with no inspiration, imagination or ability, I look at the scrap-book and feel better.

acceptances.

I am on a roll this week. Hot on the heels of my lovely acceptance of three poems from Message in a bottle magazine I have had two other publishers accept one and two poems respectively. six poems in one week. There is a God. I love it when things like this happen and all the hard work is made worthwhile. Due to circumstances out of my control I haven't been able to do any writing today. still, on my to do list is; finish editing my pieces for the cinnamon Press mini-awards. Find a suitable poem for the Forward Press regional competition. Proof-read and return my accepted poems and finally enter the Lippfest competition and the latest Graffiti Magazine Autobiography competition.That little lot should keep me out of trouble for a while. Happy writing!

More poems from my published pieces.

(Shortlisted for The Poetry Society of Cheltenham comp.09)

Death In a Flood.

The ghost in the willow hovered
upon its bending branch.
Peering at its physical self.

At that cold blue body that
rolled limply away into the rising river.
The body had clung for hours.

Frozen fingers grasping hard in
deathly drunken terror.
The voice had screamed in panic.

howling for rescue that did not come.
The ghost in the willow hung on.
Bemusedly trying to grasp what

had sent it flying from its corporeal self.
Its mind was muddied. A sickly haze
of alcohol still clung to its ethereal being.

Memories of arrogant assertions
crept back like cringing dogs.
The body had been warned.

Had chosen not to listen.
Could not even swim and had wrapped
its arms around the Willow,

as water inexorably rose.
It had held and held
as strength drained away

Exhaustion and cold had done the rest.
The ghost in the willow knew it would
always cling to the rough bark and

rue the bodies recklessness forever.




New Shoes. 1958.

May gently smoothed the sheet of cheap paper
against the table. Pressed the fold-lines
flat with the pads of her fingers and breathed the
antiseptic smell that ghosted from the brown envelope.
She gazed at the outline of the small foot drawn in
smudged pencil with the line broken in a few places.
It was more poignant than any photograph.

Her daughter’s name was scrawled in one corner
in a hand too adult and ferocious to be her child’s. The sketch
came unaccompanied by letter or salutation. She could imagine
her little girl fidgeting as her foot was firmly placed and the wriggling
of her white-socked toes. May had bought the new shoes.
Brown and sensible with a good thick sole.

She had judged the size, carefully placing a shoe
over the drawing then increasing up to allow for growth.
the parcel had been posted the day before and May had
haughtily ignored the postmistress’s curious comments.
Now she placed the sketch in the kitchen drawer.
It would lie there with the others until a new one arrived
next year.



Passing Through.



This small town oozes grimness.
With poverty written into
Every shabby shop-front.
Charity shops display rags in futility.
Grimy windows cataracted by neglect,
Peer out at dirty pavements
And watch the litter that scampers

Unimpeded along grey streets.
Opposite, stoop shouldered houses,
Carry the burden of existence.
Dispirited people move listlessly,
Held upright only by the force of hope.
They are empty. Soulless.
Ground fine by the mill of despair.

a boost to the ego.

Well I have been sending out submissions this week.I've sent stuff out to nine places since the first of this month. (that's poetry. I have also sent a couple of short stories). As you are aware we often have to wait for ages for any sort of response to our submissions so you can imagine my surprise when the editor of Message in a Bottle magazine , Fiona Sinclair got back to me within a couple of hours. She sent me a lovely email and described my poems as 'suberb'. As it often feels like I am working in a desert it was so lovely to have such a welcoming response. This will be the third time Message in a Bottle has used my work. It's a good magazine with interesting articles and some good photography too. Have a look at it and their website and send in your work. It's well worth a try. so, I am still floating about on my cloud. Ready to set to and do more work but unfortunately I have to spend a lot of time today at Cheltenham Hospital having a pre-op assessment for my forthcoming new knee op. Things always just happen when you don't need them. Oh well, let's hope the pre-op doesn't depress me to the point where the euphoria dies and I lose the flow.Last thing. I would love to put the poems Fiona liked so much on this blog but I can't till after they have been used in the Magazine.

More poetry stuff

Well, I am sorry to have missed buzzwords in Cheltenham last night. Simply too tired to go. This new medication I'm on makes me very tied and writing adds to it. Still, I should get used to it(so the doctors say).
Today I have been working on the theme of land and travel. It's for a competition and as the entry fee is four poems for £10 I thought it would be worthwhile to write new pieces. I have adapted a piece that started out as a poem and has morphed into a short story. I felt quite stimulated by the theme and now have my four pieces of writing. I still have time to re-read and re-edit before the submission date. It's been quite satisfying and a good exercise. The other plus point is that the competition has been set by a reputable publishing house. I don't mind spending on this competition whereas some of them I wouldn't bother with.Mind you, they're all a bit of a lottery.

a new piece of writing.

I've just entered a Creative Writing competition run by the charity Arthritis Care. The theme was 'If I Were an Olympian' no doubt inspired by all the Olympic Games hoo-ha that is prevalent at the moment. The entry qualification was to have Arthritis. As I have had both forms of Arthritis for 46 years I felt well qualified to enter. I found the theme a bit dubious though. To some very disabled people it might have felt like having their noses rubbed in it. Or is that just a touch of over-sensitivity on my part? So, I set to and wrote and edited my piece. It has been duly emailed and will be nestling with other entries as I write. One other thing. The last competition by Arthritis Care I entered just disappeared into the ether. No results, no winners announced, no information found anywhere I searched. I hope that this time they will let me and the other entrants know what's happening. Such a shame really. Arthritis Care is a fabulous charity. Very hard-working and worthwhile. I have been a member of their People Bank for years and value them greatly.Now, what submission shall I send next?