Category Archives: Uncategorized

Ghost print

My friend Jerry asked me if I’d like to do a piece for his blog, so I wrote and recorded a text and a poem.

(Plus – you know, he said nice things about me – you gotta take what you can get!)

If you click to view the original post on Jerry’s blog, there is a Soundcloud of the whole thing as a sort of minipodcast.

My My Corona

My friend Steve Smart is one of those people who overflows with talent. He’s a photographer, filmmaker, poet and all around Mr Fix-it when it comes to media and tech things. You can see his work here. He’s brought together a number of his talents with a lovely reflective, poetic piece appropriate to our times. Feast on this (a script follows):

Ghost print

Last night I was listening to an excellent BBC podcast in which artist Norman Ackroyd talks with author Robert Macfarlane.

Both are people whose work I admire hugely, and the conversation was a treat which I recommend. Amongst many topics covered at some point they touched on a story about an ancient hand stencil. This piece of cave art, believed to be the oldest yet discovered had been dated to over 64,000 years ago. Something sparked, and I knew I would be writing a poem…

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The Writer’s Cafe Magazine – ISSUE 16 “Landscape and Maps”

088E481D-4736-40B0-983F-4512DA1AFF2BChuffed to have a wee poem (it’s sort of a diptych) in this excellent ‘Landscape and maps’ edition of The Writers Cafe Magazine…

via The Writer’s Cafe Magazine – ISSUE 16 “Landscape and Maps”


FIRTH

News about Beth McDonough’s new poetry publication Firth. It’s an excellent idea, and I’m very delighted to have a poem included in issue 1.

Rebecca Gethin

A new poetry magazine has just taken to the water.  Firth is the brainchild of Beth McDonough, a wonderful Scottish poet whose poetry goes from strength to strength.   I am very privileged to have a poem in the inaugural issue among many.   Look at the lovely cover.  20180525_162834 As it subtitle is Poems for giving’ I have one copy to give away to the first person to Contact Me and bag it.

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Reading at Platform in April

 

Jings – I’m officially ‘on the bill’ for April 7th. For a wee spot only, I hasten to add. Still, I’d better work out which poems I’m going to offer!

You have been warned…

(where’s that wobbly nerves emoji…?)

More details here…


Are you there, Mum? – Steve Smart

I have a poem in Atrium today…

Are you there, Mum?

She could not fathom why he’d ask
his foolish question at three in the morning,
croaked but clear over no-man’s carpet.

She wanted to sleep, and she had a right,
stroked or not he was a grown man,  and
she was the children’s mum, not his.

Yes, I’m here. Then storytold in afterthought,
before he was gone and her stories broken,
What a funny thing – where else would I be? 

Odd to find it odd that he should signal,
passing dark but nearest, another navigator
on those uncertain ferries of long late nights.

Steve Smart is a poet and artist living in Scotland. His poems have been published in Poet’s Corner, Fat Damsel, and Ink, Sweat and Tears. Recent work includes ‘interstitial woodland’ poetry in collaboration with visual artist Tansy Lee Moir.
blog: https://stevedsmart.wordpress.com/
twitter: https://twitter.com/steveDsmart
web: http://www.artsci.co.uk/sds/

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Fragments of Istria: an Assemblage

A remarkable assemblage of verse, prose image and visit from ‘Hill to Sea’ !

From Hill to Sea

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We could eat this sky.

Stretch up, scoop out

handfuls; smear our faces

and taste the fanfare

of sunset.

II

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Out of red earth

lines of olive trees, vines

and quarried stone.

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Centuries of building,

dwelling, tending

the land, goats

and cattle.

Another cyprus tree – rooted

in tangled narratives

of departure

vivid light

and shadow play.

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No neatly packaged hay bales in the uncanny rural. Creatures of twilight, sit hunched in the corner of smallholdings, backs turned. In fading light, walking past these halo-skewered field dwellers: was that a lengthening shadow? a sigh? a suggestion of movement?

IV

They would appear in the adjoining field at around 7.00pm each evening. A symphony of bells heralding their arrival. We never did see where they came from. They would feast in the field for around half an hour, a clanking cacophony of movement. Occasionally, one would come over to eye us up, usually the smallest with the highest pitched bell. Curious young eyes…

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John Grey

A fine poem by John Grey…

The Open Mouse

WATCHING THE MONARCHS

On a meadow at wood’s edge,
June floats in on black and orange wings,
completes Spring’s promise,
fuels Summer’s largesse.

My eyes have their wish –
the monarchs have arrived.
Such a will to live.
Scraps of creature
cheating the wrecking ball of weather
from far down south
all the way to my doorstep.

What is sadness compared to this?
Deft as a ballerina’s toes
or a deaf man’s fingers,
they find, in air, a secret language,
writ from buttonbush to aster.

Beyond prevailing platitudes,
delicate purpose becomes beauty.
Instinct rivals even love.

Copyright © John Grey 2016

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.

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