I Whispered.

whisper | ˈ(h)wispər | verb  speak very softly using one's breath without one's vocal cords.   literary (of leaves, wind, or water) rustle or murmur softly.  [usually in singular] a slight trace; a hint:  ORIGIN Old English hwisprian, of Germanic origin; related to German wispeln, from the imitative base of whistle https://youtu.be/dP3QOi1Nb7A A reading of I Whispered, from the forthcoming collaborative volume of new lyrical ballads, Archery In The … Continue reading I Whispered.

Twelfth Night Regards.

epiphany | əˈpifənē | noun (plural epiphanies) (also Epiphany) the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi (Matthew 2:1–12). • the festival commemorating the Epiphany on January 6. • a manifestation of a divine or supernatural being. • a moment of sudden revelation or insight.  https://youtu.be/TI5O7W6veZc Selected from the forthcoming Experiments In Fiction release, Archery In The U.K. (New Lyrical Ballads & Other Poems) by Ingrid … Continue reading Twelfth Night Regards.

The Best of Whitney Houston.

Coupled beneath heavy blankets they dozed, untroubled by weather; inspired, betroved. After first, second, third, breakfast, they rose; shadows in candlelight glow, unclothed. The kissing of hallowed relics in Durham is allowed, I’ve heard. As is the giving of chips to crows. In the cenotaph garden at Amble, the clocks are still, for the living. … Continue reading The Best of Whitney Houston.

Sonnet (Bus To Dungeon Ghyll).

Sonnet, woven over poets’ weekend, to birdsong, kisses, blue socks, caresses; long baths, silk scarves and Lichtenstein dresses. Vacate the room by eleven a.m. On honeymoon sheets. The duvet is penned by second breakfast: Zimmerman verses; the cadence of their kitchen voices. Bend the bow, release; villanelle ascend the roads and bridges of Northumbria. Greetings … Continue reading Sonnet (Bus To Dungeon Ghyll).

I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier

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