Monthly Archives: October 2018

From Culloden to Yemen, by Paul Anderson

I am not a silent poet

Bones are creaking on the moor,
Sprites are chapping every door,
Who will write our battle lore?
While all around are dying.

Children killed from spot to spot
Mothers too reduced to nought
Who can hear the pibroch sound?
Where our men are lying?

Oh! Homage to the British State
It was you that taught the world to hate
You have sealed your untimely fate
With murder and oppression

See our flags as they unfurl
See our marches as they curl
Hear the slogans that we hurl
We are headed for succession!

Still your guns are so unfair
Now with drones that foul the air
But our bones will creak nae mair!
From Culloden down to Yemen

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The Horrified Poet, by Ceinwen Elizabeth Cariad Haydon

I am not a silent poet

she hollows out
her creative verve once floated words
voiced waves to lap on others’ shores
messages bottled
with love’s desire to reach and know

now her vigour     leaks     away
passes through membranes
by osmosis
into the fouled fetid alt-right sea

she/fears/she/will/be/swallowed
alive              and silenced

to death

in shock
a jolt
a sudden surge of fury

her emptiness is not complete
currents build beyond herself
and sweep her clear
of weakness

she will join
with sisters and brothers

clean swathes of forest air and ocean waters
where all might breathe and swim

s/he   they   will break away      from apathy

like new-born Amazons defeat the spawn
of Bolsonaro, Trump and all their Klu Klux kin

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5 language poems, by Yuan Changming

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

lonely

Is more than one word, where (or
When) ‘one’ is sandwiched

Between two wall-like ‘l’s (as in lies)

Driven (or followed)
By a vowel of reason

Drafting the Dragon

  • According to a recent survey conducted in ten English speaking countries,
    the top 10 most familiar Chinese words are …

In the Shaolin (少林) Temple
Rebuilt between yin and yang (阴阳)
With billions of yuan (元)
Collected from gugong (故宫the Imperial Palace)
After each greeting nihao (你好)
The wushu (武术Chinese martial arts) is
Gaining more and more momentum from qi (气)
Or the energy of qigong (气功)
Bloated with tons of renminbi (人民币)
While every Chinese is playing mahjiong (麻将)

Voice Finding

C-c-come h-h-here, ssssssssometimes
I-I-I-I ssssssspeak l-l-l-like th-th-this

[With my mouth open in position
But no sound comes out, or
Holding my breath, staring wildly
Beyond, limbs waving, muscles tensioned
Around my eyes, nose, lips, neck
Until…

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Harry Gallagher

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.

Harry book

Harry Gallagher

Harry Gallagher has been widely published by Prole, The Interpreter’s House, Poets’ Republic, Iron Press, Black Light Engine Room and many others. He runs the north east stanza of the Poetry Society and performs up and down the UK. His book ‘Northern Lights’ (Stairwell Books) was published in 2017.

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

It’s difficult to say really. A big part of…

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Schoolboy, by Jennifer Lagier

I am not a silent poet

From infancy, he’s been protected,
pampered, adored.
Helicopter parents orbit closely,
make sure obstacles are removed,
bumpy path smoothed.

Despite his lack of effort or attention,
teachers know better than to assign
a failing grade, substandard scores.
Coaches have been put on notice
to make sure he is quarterback,
captain, most valuable player.
Reprimands are challenged, overturned.

High school drinking, sexual horseplay,
all accepted without question,
after all, boys will be boys.
He grows up, self-entitled,
filled with overblown expectations.

As an adult, the world is his oyster,
six figure salary, executive perks,
career advancement assured.
Mentors have his back,
make failures, indiscretions
magically disappear.

He seizes what he wants
without consequences.
A member of an exclusive brotherhood,
he won’t be denied,
grows bigger, bolder, destroys
whoever stands in his way.

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dry flesh growing, by reuben woolley

I am not a silent poet

(for the victims in yemen)

a body

…………….the long water
i don’t sail.said sands
to meet & scattered
bones walking

……………..here be monsters

……………………………………………..deep

i’ll sing it again.this is no
shanty say bells goodbye

& children sink the same
i see.spill
your money in shrapnel
my silent voices.food
is no necessity an empty
belly fills the picture

too late she said

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Another L-shaped Room, by Chris Hemingway

I am not a silent poet

Tomorrow she’ll leave these walls behind,
with their smell of Woodbines and magnolia,
which never fades or dries,
and step into another L-shaped room.

Where bottles, jars and magazines
can stay half-opened.
Where the shelves will creak,
and speak in tongues
of vivid art animals.

Where the cover to the visitors book
can be quietly removed,
as from tomorrow
it will be a diary

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