All posts filed under: events

“Clutch” and other poems by JLM Morton

Hex without her, his gut is like a hag stone at high water craving for the sea   Voyeur For weeks I pass the affair, on the turn from common tarmac to unclassified track, where shorthorns lap at the galvanised trough, gliders rise on the ivied beech. A people carrier parks in the lay-by limestone creamed to the mudguards, the wheels, the egg of his head tips back on the rest his jaw goes slack and weak. Dark forms heave as she takes him, he takes her, they take. Two days a week I pass, imagine her perfumed, well-groomed, knitwear with no trace of lint. Her hair glints in the weak winter sun – he tweaks at the mirror and he gives, she gives, they give. Each week. It isn’t love she feels. I can tell by the bridge of her back, how her body arcs over the gearstick, reaches those thighs where his hands lay flat. For weeks, they’ve an air of wilful oblivion, unaware of that spacious interior, how visible their mundane lust  …

Poems from ‘Available Light’ by Maria McManus

from ‘Émigrés’ 3. What is going on in your heart? Prisoners of war live here Throw off your gaudy vestments, spring’s best and brightest fig and let me see you naked and then, more naked still — Put your heart in my hearts cavity. Slip it in. Bring your worry beads if needs be. It’s not too late to shred all documents of denunciation.   5. Now we must hunt by ear and put our trust  in gossiping swallows, the hooded crows, the herring gulls, the wryneck’s potent drum.   7. Between silences take notice of the imago of your stolen self. Sold back but at what price?   10. Collect wishbones, place them in charnel houses, quarter the ground to make sure and certain none are missing – these things bring a plan to grief.   11. The song-birds are drowning, the sea is now a cemetery.       The song-birds are drowning,       the sea is now a cemetery   4. Life’s comforts are honeycombed and treacherous,       and …