Tag Archives: poem

Cake Day

Here is a new poem, still in its infancy as it is a first draft.

Would love to know what you guys think!

 

Cake Day

 

Grandma used to say

everyday above ground is

a cake day.

 

I never understood

the saying until now, sat

in the second pew

 

watching lilies tremble

by candlelight. She often

came up with wacky sayings.

 

I’d shrug them off, thinking

her daft in her old age, strange ways.

 

She always kept her helmet

on the kitchen table, next to

a china teapot. One of the few

 

oldies I knew who wore jeans,

her tattoo would peek out from under

the sleeve of her cardigan.

 

They served cake at the wake. Carrot,

her favourite. I tuck into the frosting

and spice, think of her, up there,

 

looking down on me stuffing

my face, smothering myself

in life. Having another cake day.

 

 

 


The English Chicago Review

I am extremely honoured to have my poem, School Run, appear in the first ever edition of The English Chicago Review alongside some amazing poets like Amy Audebert, Ian Parks, Antony Dunn and Jem Jem Henderson!

If you would like to pre-order a copy you can do so via this link: http://englishchicagoreview.blogspot.co.uk/p/current-issue.html

Many thanks to Ashley Fisher (editor) for his kind support.

You can also check out his other publication, Turbulence, via this link: http://www.turbulencepoetry.blogspot.co.uk/

 

 

 


T’is the season to be sparkly

I feel I can officially say it now…

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

I am surrounded by fairy lights and sparkle as that is my kind of Christmas.

Some enjoy the traditional festive décor with greenery and red ribbons hanging round the mantelpiece. A slight shimmer of gold might give a soft glow next to an advent candle. There may even be dried circles of orange hung from the tree alongside simple white lights and pinecones.

Others prefer a more uniform Christmas with a colour theme that ties in nicely with the existing décor of the room. In the corner of the room stands a white tree, white to fully show off the colour displays; silver and blue, or silver and pink, or gold and red, or maybe gold and silver (no harm in a bit of bling at Christmas).

Me? Give me full on colour! I want red, green, pink, purple, silver, blue, orange. Yes, if it’s in the rainbow and beyond then put it in my room.

I will be honest, I do tend to sway towards the cooler end of the colour spectrum with purple, blue and pink taking pride of place but I’ll chuck a bit of anything in to make the living room festive and fun for the kids.

I like things to be bright at Christmas and I think it’s because I find my creativity tends to come forth more at this time of year. The lights have to shine with the intensity of this tree I saw at Centerparcs earlier this year.

Sparkly tree!!

Though in a single colour it really sparked off my excitement for Christmas and finally having the time away from Uni to write what I want to write.

I don’t tend to write ‘happy’ at Christmas though, despite my bubbling burst of excitement at this time of year. It’s almost like I need to balance out my extreme happiness with a little of that shadow that lurks in the deepest corners of our minds.

Lines like;

On calm days she’d stay inside as the river

slid by, mourning the torrents of rain

yet to clag the banks in clods of mud.

and;

I never flinched

at your words, or fist. The quilt

mountained around us as silk

 

both taken from new poems I have written recently reflect the happiness I am feeling inside simply due to the fact that they are of a sombre tone.

How do you reflect your emotions through your writing? Do you write the opposite of what you feel or do you prefer to feel that emotion at the time and get it down on paper? Maybe it’s a bit of both?

Why not pop by the comment box and share? I’d love to hear your views.


Carrion Kisses

I should’ve seen the black

dirt under your fingernails,

or smelt the perfume lingering

at your neck.

 

But your elbow, touching mine as we sat watching Countdown, kept you hidden in my laugh, in the twinkle of a sigh.

 

You came home late once,

brought me roses. Every

kiss a kitten-scratch on my

cheek, piercing, reddening.

 

But your fingers, lacing mine as we walked through the museum, quoting Shakespeare and Keats, made me smile through a cry.

 

You’d bite blood oranges through

their flesh, peel back the rind

like the skin from my lips, sucking

rubies between your gap-tooth.

 

But your scent, clouding me as we lay on sticky sheets at 4am, got caught on my tongue. I forgot the black eye.

 

Published by Turbulence Magazine: Issue 10

http://www.turbulencepoetry.blogspot.co.uk/


Olympic Torch Poetry

It’s been and gone, but the warmth of the event still lingers round the streets of York.

Here is the poetry that was tweeted during the York Torch Run 2012.

http://yorkstories2012.com/2012/06/york-torch-tweets-the-build-up/

http://yorkstories2012.com/2012/06/york-olympic-torch-relay-twitter-poems-along-the-way/#more

Enjoy!


Cot

I remember times when you would cough,

splutter back cups of milky cream.

 

The curdled cries after your fall

and cleaning rivulets from a cut

 

that gushed with pain. Red and slick

I could stomach, but it was the tired look

 

in your eyes, the mum we need to talk,

that made me stop and notice the lost tick

 

of the clock. Against your age I fought

to keep my baby in her cot.

 

Published by Pastiche Magazine

Highly commended in the York Writers Poetry Competition


6.10am

6.10am

 

sleep stares back

from the ceiling.

crusted lids cemented

like the day-old weetabix

in your unwashed bowl.

I watch the resurfacing of your breath,

the decay of your dreams

in the crinkle of your eyes,

amazed to find

you survived the night.

 

Published by Indigo Rising US: Issue 23