1 The frame is glazed with October hugging brick and black mackintosh, anvil noise, pedestrian crush. 2 Train-bent, late and suddenly lost, I search my face for tell tale signs. Pulp paperback roof for my head. 3 With pockets of galleon moths a jam jar collection of copper I thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier. … Continue reading I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier
Many thanks to Lori and the editorial team at Gleam: Journal of the Cadralor for deciding to publish my Cadralor in their latest issue (iv). The form is relatively new to me and appealed at once because of its visual qualities. There is a filmic sense to Cadralor poetry that fits well with the way … Continue reading Stippling. #Gleam – Journal of The Cadralor.
At four forty four this a.m. I broke from a curious and troublesome dream: a back yard cold hound arced from a choke, bejewelling black glass with sad bark and stream. * Struggle, the chain enchanted. But relief? Not tonight. Nor evasion. Fear defeat. The fettered dog’s howl and shackle of teeth seemed to goad … Continue reading Tonight, together, apart.
He woke beneath a kitchen table. Scattered crumbs rose like far-off prairie mountains on the tiles. Through a slice of window he could see a deep crusted snow, shining on a rooftop. The sky held more snow. He was wearing someone else's jumper. Heavy, handwoven, Hebridian: blue with a daisy motif. He stared at the … Continue reading The Kiss.
I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
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nickreeves 