poetry snapshots: claudia jessop

Love Poem, with Obsolete Technology

1

Rotary, manual,

the round drag of days,

the sliding feed of paper

round the cylinder, under the bar,

the bar like a horizon,

the paper like the sea.

The rubber stamp’s stamp,

the wrapping in brown paper

of precious weight

secured with string,

with thumb-pulled knots.

The circle of the postmark,

of the watchface,

of the dial.

The watermark’s grave echo.

2

This photograph in a frame, on a desk

will stabilise, set free.

You stand

against a backdrop of the sea.

But once I have written you down,

you will pose, eyes heavenward,

like a matinee idol,

publishing your smiles.

.

My poem of you

will create artificial conditions

as if for a fish to live

outside water, stretching breath

in raw air.

The small machines of words

will cut your perfect shape: you will look up,

right at me

not like one long gone, not like one

failing to be delivered,

leaving no mark.

Claudia Jessop lives in Hackney with her husband, son and daughter. She works in a library, runs poetry and reading groups for children, and conducts research into local history. Some of her articles have been published on the Hackney Society's website.

This year Cinnamon Press published her second collection, Looking For. Her first collection, also from Cinnamon, was This is the Woman Who (2009). She has published poetry in several magazines and has had poems and short stories placed in several competitions. You can hear her reading one of her poems at the Poetry Magazines website.

I'm very much looking forward to reading Claudia's new poetry collection, and couldn't resist posting a photo of the beautiful cover, which, I think, works very well with Claudia's beautiful poetry:

 

  

poetry snapshots: david cooke

I always enjoy reading new poems by David Cooke, and hope to see more from him in the future. We're very lucky to see one of his new poems, Pilgrims, here. Thanks, David! He has recently had poems published in The Cortland Review and London Grip Poetry Review, and on websites The Screech Owl and The Dock, with a forthcoming poem in the Irish Literary Review. David's excellent latest poetry collection, Work Horses, is available from Ward Wood Publishing, and he also has a page on the poetry pf site.

PILGRIMS

for Ziyad, Tamim & Rafiq

When the day has come,

you will make a journey

to the city of Mecca.

Each of you a pilgrim

dressed in white,

you will cast the stones

that set you free

from Shaitán, the evil one.

Circling the Ka’aba

you will feel around you

the crowd surging

like a river in spate;

and though it’s a distance

I cannot travel,

the scallop shells

on my school badge

made me a pilgrim too

like those who had tramped

to the far-flung shrine

of Santiago

de Compostela

poetry snapshots: shanta everington

Debut poetry chapbook from Shanta Everington

Shanta Everington’s debut poetry chapbook, Drowning in Cherryade, is published this month by US-based independent publisher, bedouin books, after winning their annual poetry chapbook competition.

 

Editor Michael D'Alessandro says, ‘Drowning in Cherryade conjures candy-colored scenes of youth mirrored in an examination of memories. Overwhelmed by first experiences, the poems are at once told with a resignedness to their outcomes, while maintaining a perspective of awkward fumbling for an anchor. This parallax affect helps complete the pictures presented here with a quick wit, a rooted voice and a few playful surprises.’

Excerpt:

 

To Die For

 

Half a packet of raindrops and

as much ice cold water as

you can drink for your body

to warm up and burn. He

 

pinches half a millimetre

of flesh on my ribs and says,

You need to take better care

of yourself, my dear. I peer

 

through the veil of my fringe and

nod my head three millimetres,

picturing my picture in the papers.

I can be ready in a week. I peek

 

at the tick next to my name.

Next. My smiling eyes roll

down over the twigs of my toes

and all the way to the park where

 

I will perform a hundred star jumps

and remember how your skin

used to shine when you laughed.

For you understood it was important.

 

***

 

Shanta has an MA in Creative Writing with Distinction from MMU and teaches Creative Writing with The Open University in London. In addition to Drowning in Cherryade, she has published three novels and two non-fiction books. Visit http://www.shantaeverington.co.uk

poetry snapshots: andy humphrey

The Green Man




Each evening, his labours at an end,

the green man

catches the number ten bus

and makes his silent way

through the glistening, lamplit streets.



I didn’t realise

it was him at first,

muffled under moss-coloured wool

and capacious, earth-stained coat.

But that musk gave him away:

the autumn-scent of crumbling bark and badgers,

brown as leaf-litter, heady

with mushrooms, moss and leather. The air

tastes of tilled earth as he passes.



I sneak a glance

when he’s not looking, try to make out

stray twigs poking

from under the cap, the stubble-fuzz of lichen

on his jowls, the weatherbeaten

crags of brows. I picture great fat hands,

hoary, ripe as apples,

curling up hedgehogs into puffballs,

scuffing truffles, turning insect-teeming logs,

bedding in horse-chestnuts until spring.



In cracked grey hobnails

he disembarks like rustled leaf-breath.

A flavour of loam and windfalls

lingers in the air behind him:

the must of seasons turning,

festivals,

harvests.




Andy Humphrey is a freelance writer, part-time law student, trade union activist and former research scientist. He has lived in York for the last five years. His published output includes nearly 50 poems and a number of short stories and he writes his own opinion blog, The Poet's Soapbox. He has won numerous awards for his poetry including six First Prizes in national and international competitions. He spends much of his time promoting up-and-coming writers as a competition judge, poetry slam organiser, and MC of The Speakers' Corner open mic night in York. His writing is heavily influenced by his favourite things which include twilight, fairy stories, English and Celtic folk music, and single malt whisky. His proudest achievements include surviving three years in Milton Keynes, and his ambition is to prove that Dragons really did exist, and possibly still do.


You can read more about Andy and his writing here.

poetry snapshots: farhan khan

For A Few Coins



Shambling along a dirt road,

I come across a pauper girl,

not older than six or seven --

skinny, tanned, in ragged clothes.

She is readying herself

for her amusement trick

to earn some money

off the passers-by.



There is a five-meter tightrope

stretched, half a meter from the ground,

between two short wooden poles.

The girl now walks along it, slowly,

carefully balancing,

encouraged by the clapping and wiggling

of the gathering crowd.



Do they see her tired face,

no light in her eyes?

Do they notice how thin

her stretched little arms are?



Two quick last steps,

and she plunges to the ground

to collect the scattered coins

with speed and zeal.





Farhan, a young poet from the tiny town,Budaun of the vicinity of Uttar Pradesh, India, is doing his Masters of Arts in English Literature from Rohil Khand University, Bareilly. His picturesque poems make a film in the reader’s mind, taking the reader into the abode of palpable emotions to touch the bottom of their heart. His early poems have been placed in an International Online Journal known as Kritya, which is published from Kerala, India, and in several other ezines. He has a blog where  a few of his poems can be read by clicking on this link-http://farhanpoetry.blogspot.com/

poetry snapshots: chris kinsey

FLINT


(With a line

by Wallace Stevens.)



“And nothing need be explained,”

said the stone,

sea-spittle drying.



Not knapped,

nor chipped

to blade or arrowhead.



Not struck for sparks

nor saved for slingshot,

but fingered



out of a shingle bed

and cradled in a palm,

on a morning where gulls,



whiter than Sizewell’s vanishing globe,

nestle into footprints

the crunch has walked from.












Since winning an Arts Council of Wales bursary for new writing in 2000, Chris Kinsey has been a freelance writer, tutor, and rescuer of greyhounds. Her previous books are Kung Fu Lullabies and Cure for a crooked smile, both published by Ragged Raven Press. Swarf, published by Smokestack Books, will be launched on 15th September at the Oriel Davis Gallery.
Her stage play, Feathering the Dark, was shown at Aberystwyth Arts Centre and her short play, I and I, at Venue Cymru. She writes a regular Nature Diary for Cambria and occasionally for Natur Cymru. Chris has read at the Ledbury and Hay festivals, and her work has been featured on BBC Radio 4 and Radio Wales. She is currently Writer-in-residence at Oriel Davies Gallery.

poetry snapshots: david mac

Red Beat




Your heart is a big red bell,

a pumping howl,

a hot steamy pie,

and so is mine.

They keep their legendary ticking,

their sore beat

like the glad voice of God.

Listen…

We are alive, we are in love,

the pulse is fierce.

Do you hear?

Listen…

Our hearts’ clock is

the only time that matters.





David Mac is 32-year-old wino forklift driver whose work can be found in Ambit, Purple Patch, The Journal, Weyfarers, United Press, Monkey Kettle, Clockwise Cat, Urban District Writer, erbacce, Streetcake, Urban Landscapes, Neon Highway, KRAX, Moodswing, Antique Children, Danse Macabre, Mud Luscious, Burning Houses, This Zine Will Change Your Life, Poetry Over Coffee, Global Tapestry Journal, Obsessed With Pipework, Howls and Pushycats, Word Riot, Decanto, as well as being a featured poet on The Poetry Kit’s ‘Caught On The Net’.


Many self-publishd chapbooks available plus ‘These Dirty Nothings’ and ‘Room is Brutal’ from erbacce-press.

He is currently locked in a mad room somewhere in the Bedfordshire Hell writing his cheap, dirty, twisted words, and drinking his vat of cheap red wine.

Read more words on Write Out Loud: www.writeoutloud.net/poets/davidmac

lutonghoul@hotmail.co.uk

poetry snapshots: andrew oldham



The Real Icarus



The men have taken to shore,

drunk and singing, arm in arm with whores.

My son, their Captain, he yells, keep her fast,

sing my shanties or feel the lash.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



Down by the docks he pisses on tramps,

shows them wax burns, all born from lamps.

In alleys, in taverns, he spreads his lies,

shows them goose feathers, bullshit flies.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



I am immortal, says my son, women snigger,

cocks his pistol, smiles, pulls the trigger.

A snap, a fizz against wax, a misfired dud,

my son is not born of my blood.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



Icarus fell here, women say, as I come and go,

in a tavern, in a marketplace, he performed his show.

No fizz, I melted the wax from the barrel of his gun,

he took away my home, my life, my inventions, my son.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.








 
Andrew Oldham has been a columnist for The London Magazine. His fiction has featured in The Sunday Times and his first poetry collection, Ghosts of a Low Moon (Lapwing, Belfast 2010), is available at http://www.andrewoldham.co.uk/




poetry snapshots: nina simon

Painting the Oceans


I paint oceans

with violent hues -

heavy lines stir surging seas,

thick brush strokes

smash waves against breakers,

while white foamy spume

pounds shingle beaches.



Blues and greens

swirl into darkness,

leaden clouds

billow in deepest grey.



I stipple in a small sailboat;

tossed and thrown

on turbulent tides,

its lone occupant

clinging to the mast,

as water washes away outlines.






Published in Misfit Mirror: an anthology of poetry and flash fiction by Earlyworks Press, 2008


Nina works for Redbridge Schools’ Library Service.. Although she has always loved to read, writing is something she only began by accident about seven years ago. At last she feels she has found a means to express herself and channel her over-active imagination into poetry and short stories.

poetry snapshots: michelle mcgrane

'Terra Marique Potens'


So, there we were, me and the wee'un at my breast, nestled in my sheepskin coat, cradled by the pitch and roll, when a fearsome din broke out on deck. While Tioboid slept the sleep of newborns, Cap'n O' Domhnaill burst into the cabin urging me to rally the crew. Sticky with birthing, milk and sweat, cursing the eejits who wouldn't grant a woman rest after labour, I sallied above with my musketoon, legs shaking as if I'd been keelhauled from Inishlaghan to Carrigeenglass Norht. Through flags of smoke, a square-rigged galley, its blackjack flapping as corsairs swarmed aboard. Snugging the stock into my shoulder, I picked out a flinty crag of a man bawling like the divil hisself and assailing my lads with a boarding axe. Aiming the flared muzzle, I cocked the hammer, squeezed the trigger. When he hit the boards, mouth agape, the remaining Berbers scarpered like bilge rats. I succoured the babe wrawling for teat and ordered all hands to bear up for port.






Published in The Suitable Girl, Pindrop Press, 2010


Michelle McGrane is the author of The Suitable Girl (published by Pindrop Press in the United Kingdom and Modjaji Books in South Africa). She lives in Johannesburg and blogs at Peony Moon.

poetry snapshots: helen cadbury

From the Norse

Stones and sand

tipped in to my mouth

when I first spoke

your language.

How I gave myself away

as the wind blew

my vowels into

a new shape.

Published in Matter 9: http://www.makingwritingmatter.co.uk/

Helen Cadbury writes poetry and plays. If she can sit down for long enough, she writes stories and novels.  Some poems have been published, three plays have been performed, one short story has been broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and the novels take up space on her hard drive. She lives in York.

poetry snapshots: juliet wilson

Amazonia


The year I was born

the plane went down

over uncharted land, drowning

in endless forest, choking damp heat.



Rare parrots watched.

Howler monkeys shouted

through the trees

news of something never seen before.



The crew had no chance.

Rescue teams heard the call

but failed to locate

in endless dense canopy.



Now the bones and wreckage

lie in arid suburban gardens

where at night, the ghosts of howler monkeys scream

and extinct parrots flutter through restless dreams.




published in Unthinkable Skies, 2010, Calder Wood Press (http://www.calderwoodpress.co.uk/).

Juliet Wilson is an Edinburgh based poet and adult education tutor. She blogs at Crafty Green Poet (http://craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com/) and edits the online poetry journal Bolts of Silk (http://boltsofsilk.blogspot.com/). Her poetry chapbook Unthinkable Skies was published in 2010 by Calder Wood Press (http://www.calderwoodpress.co.uk/). She is a volunteer with the Water of Leith Conservation Trust, helping to look after one of Edinburgh's rivers (http://www.waterofleith.org.uk/)

poetry snapshots: sarah james

Unsubmerged

In Dominica, an earthquake cracked

Roger’s home like a walnut.

His wife’s omelette pan skipped off the stove,

their bed hopped the floor, chairs

pirouetted into shaking walls.

But cotted snug in a box for their breakfast –

half a dozen eggs, unbroken.





Visiting his mother in Grenada,

a hurricane peeled her house like an orange.

Winds stacked roofs, turned

tamarind trees into mops, uprooted

nutmeg plantations but left the glass

of his daughter’s portrait a smooth,

unrippled ocean.





Half-submerged in New Orleans, Roger’s shoes

walked in pairs on water. Tables arked,

chairs waded out the doors

and dead rats trailed the apartment stairs,

while his daughter’s dress

hung freshly pressed on her bedroom door:

dry and pink with flowers.





Sarah James



From ‘Into the Yell’ by Sarah James, published by Circaidy Gregory Press (http://www.circaidygregory.co.uk/ ), July 2010.



Sarah James is a prize-winning poet, fiction writer and journalist, who has been widely published in anthologies, literary journals and online.

She was shortlisted in Templar Poetry 2009 Pamphlet and Collection Competition, had two poems shortlisted in The Plough Prize 2009 and was joint winner of the Exmoor Society’s Poetry Competition 2010. Her website and blog is at http://www.sarah-james.co.uk./

poetry snapshots:paul tanner (tanner)

Chemicals




Hiding up in the stockroom with Tom

I took a bite out me apple

and I turned to him and concluded

‘This apple be very appley!’



he said that was good.



And then I went off on one

about how computers

and cars

and even pens

never bloody work,

that nothing manmade

does what it’s meant to



but look here,

this natural product

free from the mother earth

is bang on the money ...



then I remembered

that everything is owned

and you can’t simply

go up to a fucking god-given tree

and take an apple off it

without getting

a shotgun salt pellet up your arse

and a fine and a jail sentence

cos you dared to sample

what is essentially a plant

that was given to us

by the fucking natural world

ferchrisake



and then I was all pissed off again.




'Congealed Anfield '84. Once for the money, twice for the love. I peer out grids and get the low-down on this society effort you're all making. Tis somewhat shite to be brutally honest, squire. If you kill the head the body will die. NATIONAL SERVICE FOR ALL TEBBITS. Fin.'

http://www.facebook.com/pages/TANNER/138229396199355?ref=sgm

Joanna's note: Tanner's poems have been published in a variety of magazines. He wrote 'Chemicals' especially for Poetry Snapshots.

poetry snapshots; ken champion

Forties Noir



It’s the lighting; a beach hut’s sculpted shadows,

a white face pushing from a darkened porch,

Mitchum in Acapulco heat, slatted light


across his jacket, Greer walking in against the

sun, a Mexican Dietrich strolling a highway,

headlights stroking her back before she becomes

night, the palms, fedoras, wise guys, bars;


the evening park, a tram’s Nighthawks figures,

kids playing floodlit footie round a lamppost,

the hall glow through the fanlight, lincrusta,


dad’s torch searching the cellar for the nail jar,

Aunt Flo upstairs hoping I’ll pencil a seam

down the back of her painted legs while


Uncle Harry’s away, her face under mine,

garish, by the cheap bedside lamp.

A pencilled line simulated real stockings.

Published in MAGMA 46, 2010.

Ken Champion is an internationally published poet whose work has appeared in over a hundred magazines and anthologies, including Rialto, Smiths Knoll, Magma, African American Review and Iodine Poetry Journal. He has two pamphlets, African Time (2002) and Cameo Poly (2004) published by Tall Lighthouse and a full collection, But Black And White Is Better (2008). He has also had fiction published in literary journals in the UK and USA. Ken reads in London and elsewhere and hosts More Poetry at Borough Market. He runs poetry workshops and is Reviews Editor for Tall Lighthouse. A selection of his poems can be found at The Poetry Library and at http://www.kenchampion.org.uk/

Born in London’s east end, Ken lectures in sociology and philosophy, and has worked as a decorator, sign writer, mural painter and commercial artist. He lives in London and has three sons.



poetry snapshots: frances white

Piano Bar Blues


Dizzy summer night

quenched with lager


her eyes dreamy

with piano bar blues


moving aside their empty glasses

his arm brushed hers


low lighting and soft cushions

made her head swim


they slipped away

into the moonlight


music fading

as they sauntered back


under the larch trees

along the water


his hands in his pockets

all the way home.




© Frances White

Published in:
‘AWAY WITH WORDS, An Anthology of Poetry’
(Aeronwy Thomas, Beryl Myers, Annie Taylor, Frances White),
Poetry Monthly Press, 2007, ISBN 978-1-906357-01-6



Frances White’s poems and artwork have been published in magazines and anthologies.
Thirty of her poems were published in ‘AWAY WITH WORDS, An Anthology of Poetry’ (Poetry Monthly Press 2007), which she co-authored with the late Aeronwy Thomas.
Her poems have won first prizes in three local competitions and she received a Highly-Commended nomination in the Torbay Open Poetry Competition, 2010.
Frances lives in South West London and has read as a guest poet at poetry venues and festivals in London and Wales. She is working towards her first collection.

poetry p f pages http://www.poetrypf.co.uk/franceswhitepage.shtml
Second Light Live Members’ Page http://www.secondlightlive.co.uk/members/franceswhite.shtml

poetry snapshots: mavis gulliver

Breaking Dormancy



Time passed and I forgot

the envelope labelled in your precise hand,

‘Welsh Poppy seeds from my garden…for yours.’

Forgot the fine dust filtering through my fingers,

settling on stubborn soil.



Three years on, the ache of your death

has dulled…a little.

I have learned to speak of you without weeping.



Now you are back, you…and your poppies.

Pendulous buds expanding, shaking out their creases,

opening bright as suns,

spilling yellow petals

seeds

memories.



published in Envoi, Issue 146, 2007




Mavis says: I came to poetry relatively late in life and have Joanna to thank for her excellent constructive criticism on the OCA Course in 2006. I write mainly about nature, landscape, islands, family and memories - linking the different aspects together wherever possible.

poetry snapshots: anne stewart

Winter Loving



“Let us have winter loving that the heart

May be in peace and ready to partake

Of the slow pleasure spring would wish to hurry

… ” Elizabeth Jennings Winter Love





She lies awake listening to the storm.

It breaks in through open transom lights;

runs riot through the house, a vandal gouging

pristine walls. Bringing the outside in.



She hears the garden’s talk, thin as thorns

scratching glass, alpines clinging for dear life,

plastic chairs sitting themselves down hard.

And you lie close. Boats in safe harbour.



She tries to listen better, strains to hear

the scrape of firs digging in their heels

against the gale, but you snore too loudly,

content with life just lapping at your sides.



Thugs of rain shout and batter at the window

as though they’d come to sort you out. Listen!

Listen to the whale-song of the trees as they

wallow in it. See how they shake their fists.



Anne Stewart

shortlisted in the Frogmore Poetry Competition, 2007 and published in The Frogmore Papers, No. 70, Autumn 2007;


published in Flarestack Poetry anthology, Mr Barton Isn’t Paying, 2009;

included in collection, The Janus Hour, Oversteps Books, 2010 (http://www.overstepsbooks.com/, ISBN 978-1-906856-16-8)


Founder of the poet-showcase site, www.poetrypf.co.uk, Anne Stewart is administrator for Second Light Network and co-edited several issues of ARTEMISpoetry. She was awarded MA(Dist) in Creative Writing from Sheffield Hallam University in 2003 and won the Bridport Prize in 2008. The Janus Hour (Oversteps Books, 2010) is her first collection.

http://www.poetrypf.co.uk/ http://www.secondlightlive.co.uk/

http://www.secondlightlive.co.uk/artemis.shtml http://www.overstepsbooks.com/

poetry snapshots: adrian green

Business Breakfast

On a blue September dawn

the tide ebbs under London Bridge.

We walk across – a crowd

alive but hypnotised.

So many left undead

for croissants and a cappuccino.

And in the knowing,

unknowing,

and knowing again

of things we never

thought would matter,

breakfast sages

read our fortunes

in the coffee spoons,

project their fantasies

on office walls.

Later, on the Circle Line,

the salesmen with their laptops

watch a couple sharing sushi

from a plastic box.

Adrian Green

Previously published in Well Versed, poems from the Morning Star (Hearing Eye, ISBN 978-1-905082-42-1)

and Chorus and Coda (Littoral Press, ISBN 978-0-9550926-7-1).

About Adrian Green:
Adrian Green lives overlooking the sea at Southend. A former editor of SOL and reviews editor of Littoral, poems and reviews have appeared in several magazines and anthologies. His current collection, Chorus and Coda (ISBN 978-0955092671), is available from the Littoral Press.
See more at http://www.greenad.co.uk/ or listen at http://www.myspace.com/chorusandcoda

poetry snapshots: camilla reeve

The Long Journey of Humans

How old was I last night?
In the darkness and quiet
of my own back garden,
I looked up at a sky, deep indigo,
brushed with clouds of grey,
uplit apricot from the city,
and I felt so young.

The long journey of humans
stretched far ahead of me,
full of promise and wonder.
The eyes of unnamed stars
peered down between each cloud,
as strangers, hoped-for friends,
glance from the corner of a rock
and make a new land homely.

Standing there, I heard nothing
but wind riffling my hair,
rain dripping from leaves
the muffled stealth of paws
as a hunting cat passed by.

Now that the everyday
with its well-worn streets
and crowded timetables
is round me, I might be feeling
as old as humanity, as stale.
But I discovered in my mind
and smiling, the little girl
who stood in the dark.

She is still full of wonder
and delight, still looking out
and up and round her
at the enchanting and unknown,
where the return of daylight
has not this time achieved
the death of promise
or the end of mystery.

from collection, "Travels of a Spider",2006. ISBN 978-0-9556770-0-7, published through lulu.com.

Camilla says: Born too late to make sense of the last century I’m focusing on enjoying this one, by novel-writing, poetry and performance, a computer career, back-packing travel and chaotic attempts to transform my garden into a fertile wilderness. I’ve published two poetry collections and a third is underway, details at writing-with-anger-and-love.co.uk