Diagnosis Inc. – James Byrne You are two oranges shy of sangria You chumpchange in a clackdish You the flensed soldier, egg-runny on the inside You frogging deadline after deadline You caught in a Swiss chokehold You feeding the duckboards…
Sunday Poem – Eileen Sheehan
some contradictions that beset the ex-wife’s brain – Eileen Sheehan When I got your news I sent a message saying, I hope you all have a great day out. This was no lie, but in fairness, it was only part…
Residential Poetry Course in St Ives
Steve Ely and I have been working really hard this week to pull the timetable together for the residential poetry course that we’re running in St Ives next year, from the 15th to the 20th February. Below you will find…
Sunday Poem – Damian Rogers
There’s No Such Thing as Blue Water – Damian Rogers I’ve been thinking that montage is a mental technique for accepting unity as a convulsive illusion. I feel sick. I hate it when my stories have holes, though I suspect…
Poetry Workshop, Barrow-in-Furness
I will be running an all day poetry workshop on the 14th November at Hawcoat Park Community Centre, Skelwith Drive, Barrow in Furness from 10am-4pm. The workshop costs £15 and beginners and experienced poets are welcome. The day will consist…
Sunday Poem – Hubert Moore
Boy’s Name – Hubert Moore The wooden post in the pond where the kingfisher perches is a bare post, and indeed when they asked you your name you couldn’t say anything. You knew it of course. You’d answer if somebody…
Sunday Poem – Peter R White
It is not Sunday, it is not Sunday. It’s barely still Monday. And yet. Better late than never I suppose! This week has been slightly bizarre. There was the come-down from the high of the Forward Prize ceremony. The night…
Sunday Poem – Malcolm Carson
I’ve been thinking a lot about this blog in the last couple of weeks. I’ve been getting a bit weary – not with picking the poems, which I love doing, but with writing about my week, which seems to become…
Sunday Poem – Mark Carson
Sunday Poem by Mark Carson, plus a run-down of my writing, running and trumpet playing week.
Sunday Poem – Wayne Price
I cannot say that I’m not relieved to have got to the end of this week – two four hour rehearsals, two readings and one gig, all while I’ve had the most awful cold. In fact to call it a…