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?