in t’ George by Geoff Hattersley

Proletarian Poetry

cedars pubThe pub I spent much of my twenties in during the 1980s, is no longer. Turned into an Indian bar and restaurant. I’m not too down about it. After all that’s where people tend to end up after the pub anyway, so why not make it the pub. Better than some overpriced hipster bar where you can drink five pound craft ales that taste like toffee or coffee, and eat food called burnt ends. It is life’s transitions which challenge us – the old with the new. Our pub was separated into three age-based parts; ‘the bar’, where the family men went after work, then the ‘smoke bar’, where us teen/twenty something dole heads, sat at one end (with a pool table), and the ‘death end’, where the coffin dodgers sat and smoked their roll ups.

screen time kidsBut I fear that at a time when my generation (us middle-aged types) are/were…

View original post 1,057 more words

Advertisements

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Ian Badcoe

The Wombwell Rainbow

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.
The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

44497834_1524870160948256_425664356051582976_n

An illustration to his poem “A Love Song for Geeks”… found on his web site.

Ian Badcoe

Ian Badcoe has been a scientist and engineer. His poetry explores themes of humanism, geekhood, gender, mental health, science, art, technology and literary genres such as SciFi and Crime.

The Interview

1.When did you start writing poetry?

Sometime around ’97 or ’98, I think…It was New Year and we were a little…

View original post 2,158 more words

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Sam Smith

The Wombwell Rainbow

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.
The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Sam Smith

Editor of The Journal (once ‘of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry’), publisher of Original Plus books, I was born Blackpool 1946 and am now living in Blaengarw, South Wales. While I am still a freelance writer my last day job was as an amusement arcade cashier. But I have also been a psychiatric nurse, residential social worker, milkman, plumber, laboratory analyst, groundsman, sailor, computer operator, scaffolder, gardener, painter &…

View original post 1,556 more words

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Peter J. King

The Wombwell Rainbow

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.
The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Peter J. King

was active on the London poetry scene in the 1970s, running Tapocketa Press and co-editing words worth magazine with Alaric Sumner. Aside from a brief return to writing and publishing in the 1980s, and translating from modern Greek poetry with Andrea Christofidou, he abandoned poetry for philosophy until 2013, since when he has been writing, performing, and publishing frenetically.
His poetry, including translations from German and…

View original post 1,125 more words

Three poems by Mela Blust

I am not a silent poet

plastic death

she used the     blue blood moon
to blot her      sea shaped eyes;
acid tears       chemtrail skies
you suffocated her.
your machines    took the trees
limbs snapped    plague disease
broken arms can’t wrap, cradle.
micro beads     swirling the seas
into her uterus
to bear the rotten fruit
until her    last breath
the disguise    of progress
plastic      death

machine

machine does what he is told
there are lies to be sold
drones to the end of the day
makes his living this way
machine goes home at night
turns out all the lights
doesn’t know who he is
reality is not his
machine breaks down one day
has to be thrown away
left out in the cold
there are lies to be sold

Capitalism

hurts bad today. all that we have built

festers within my nearly hollowed shell the

candy pop shadow of nauseating filth is playing

an almost constant…

View original post 232 more words

Two poems by Hilary Hares

I am not a silent poet

Red Shoes

It’s Friday night.
The fire-lighter’s back.

It’s late.
He’s had a drink.

With the skill of a god
he makes new life in the grate.

She’s asleep, perhaps,
in the tie-me-down bed

but she sparks when the cap
of his boot strikes the stair.

She scents his smoky finger-pads,
his malted breath.

That’s when that other child
who lives inside

ignites.

A Game of Chess

Bearing the arms of a mother’s distant cousin
a black knight rides in,
his visor a camera of forbidden angles
focused on a blue poplin skirt.

The girl has put her trust in the Queen
who isn’t home.
Not a tear from her fixed doll-eye as the knight
lifts, probes, clicks the shutter.

Much later on she pours her guilt
into the Queen’s red ear,
learns that the king is not to be told,
the knight not checked.
..

Hilary Hares lives in…

View original post 51 more words

The Second Question, by Mike Took

I am not a silent poet

I’m a non-British resident, transgender working pensioner
I’m a means-tested, mixed race, unpaid contracted support-worker
I’m a non-white, gender fluid, single parent lesbian
I’m a child of Muslim parents, asexual, agnostic, churchgoer

Review my application
Process my claim
Specify my future
But struggle with my name
Confirm my entitlement
Deal with my request
Govern my choices
Decide what happens next

I’m an angry retired socialist considering private medicine
I’m a genius adolescent who’s been taught to hate society
I’m a childless unemployed father with some kids who call me Dad
I’m a dyslexic mature student filling forms in for a loan

Rejected.  Deferred.
Your final word
Approved.  Denied.
You decide
Adopted?  Non-practising?  Queer?  Two mothers?
Just put Other
Tick the box
Judged by a social paradox

Oh how I want to fit in
To be happy and successful just doing my thing
You ask, I answer
But what can I…

View original post 96 more words