The second-to-last exertion is not the rainbow. It is the to-and-fro flight of a raven clamped in darkness for 150 days. Let there be beats the raven’s wings Let there be beats the raven’s hope No land, raven. No release. Below yap choppy waves, corpses float and catch on broken trees. No release, raven. NoContinue reading “Nearing the End”
Shining in Brightness, my first book of selected poems, documents the hopeful years of 18 to 30. I hold a special affection for this creative scrapbook. It is a nostalgic artefact of a time period I declared ‘a mystical decade‘.
For World Poetry Day last year I wrote out the fanciful myth I have constructed about how poetry precipitated my birth.
Evening issues an amber skein. It trails a flock in departure. In tumblers, it reflects as liquid. From the road into one’s ear, whorls the skein. When Friday dusk descends, often you will hear sirens. — “Lots of sirens. People have been drinking,” noted a friend of mine one balmy summer’s afternoon in sleepy NorthContinue reading “Absorbed”
With the spit and fizz of fireworks, I clinked flutes of resolutions on a New Year’s Night. Now March, the ashes have blown away. — A week ago, I wrote about how my effervescent poetry-writing productivity has ebbed. Wail and gnash as I might, not much seems to be helping. In fact, strange circumstances haveContinue reading “Reviewing the Pursuit”
Another crowd favourite from the archives. “A fun romance” appears in my book Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys.
“In an English Spring-Time” is often well received at readings. Last month I made a visit to Cambridge with a friend. (No, not the same person of the poem.) At my request we sought out the shop that sells the amazing Chelsea buns. I now have the establishment’s name. It is Fitzbillies. Their buns areContinue reading “Spring returns”
When you make something and present it to the world, there will be divided opinions. “At Noon” was one of the first poems with which I experienced the onslaught of, “What nonsense is this?” together with, “I love it!” It’s good to learn you can’t please all the people all the time.
A turn to the inside, draws out liquorice laces, long and sweet to suck and chew; This turn to the inside locates in other corners of the paper-layered drawer small tacks of past stings — Scheduling a poem every day for a month (from 18 Jan. to 19 Feb.) made me feel impressively productive. NowContinue reading “Interior Holdings”