All posts filed under: Magic

“mia council casa es tu council casa” and other poems by Ali Whitelock

i am the sea that january. prestwick beach. the sea heaves. swallows herself down like cough syrup in thick slow gulps. we’d sat on this rock just two days before, both of us with our backs to the world staring out across and into the thickness. i counted a thousand and one seagulls that day watched them huddle together, balance like storks on a single orange leg the other nestled up in the warmth of their soft white bellies as they, with uncharacteristic patience, waited for the rain that would surely fall and when the wind whipped up, andrew jumped from our rock pulled his emerald green kite from his rucksack tore off down the desolate beach his kite ploughing a trench in the sand behind him, eager for the gust that would lift it to where it wanted to be and every few seconds he’d turn around and run backwards untangling cords and calling out across the increasing distance between us, ‘c’mon on ali! c’mon!’ and i heeded his call, jumped from our rock …

‘Everything’ and other poems by Evelyn Moloney

1. Everything   It’s truly a chaotic thing to suddenly see   starlight, heaven and everything   in someone’s eyes   2. Sky   The sky spilled sadness into paper cups   and   lilac clouds soaked up the dreams of a thousand grey print press people   with their coffee stained sleeves, keyboard click steps and empty minds   3. Pull   I wish I could pull all the sad out of you out through your chest   I’d fill up the empty spaces with flowers   chrysanthemum cardiac tissue your whole heart plastered in every pretty petal   As if I could bandage an entire botanical garden of happy blooming in your bloodstream   4. Crash   Oh my poor whole world is crashing down in stinging purple spark explosions and salty little girl tears that I can hear the sound of each time I’ve ever wished on pastel birthday cake candles   distorted, flooding   rushing like icy water, wish wish wish   5. Dizzy   My world is always sunset and …

‘The Road Taken’ and other poems by Kate Ennals

Cuckoo Before she was mine she drank red wine and spirits With class, in Egypt and Paris An educated forties woman From Wales, aquiline nose, my brother’s eyes Stylish in scarves, tight belt, full skirts, Intelligent. Conversation, politics. A woman of intellect. Studious, serious She pursued kingdoms of change But with each revolution comes sex And she became history. Mine Look, here I come. Cuckoo, cuckoo Before I arrived, my mother was beautiful.   After Alvy Carragher’s ‘Mother’ I have just read a poem: ‘Mother’ By Alvy Carragher over and over: “You said it was love at first sight” Mother, I don’t recall you saying that On this couch where I now lie where, as a child, I snuggled into your woven threads of bosom and breath The words, ‘I love you’? No I would remember Though I heard the scream you held at arm’s length Its tentacles tangled in our threaded embrace.   DNA I come home from time to time Motionless, I stand, glide down Steel de-escalates underfoot My eyes swivel, theatre bound …

‘Following the River Exe on a Wednesday Afternoon’ and other poems by Kate Garrett

Granny Woman The men leave us be; at times like this they take themselves out to the porch with pipes and tin cups. Everyone trusts the granny woman. She knows best, walks for miles when there’s a baby coming, brings her bag along. The bottles of green-smelling whiskey, fat leaves smooth and big as her hand, rolled into jars, rattle next to mud bases for the poultice. She eases the pains away, welcomes every life into the wild world, soothes swollen breasts so new young ones can feed. Now and then she brews up roots and stems for some silly girl with a problem. I’d say the men on the porch never know much about that. Some must believe they’re lucky. They never say anyhow. They don’t see what we see: the other side of the granny woman, when she doesn’t bring joy, calm and a blessing, when she carries pain in her bag, cramps, red blood, and a flat relief.   *Until the middle of the 20th century, it was typical for rural communities …

‘A Proper Poem’ and other poems by Abigail Dufresne

Big Brother Is Watching.   I wanted to push off into the crashing, Batter against bridges Be swept away by currents   You preferred the shore No sharks on shore No undertows to rip away your red tide sister   I wasn’t allowed to kayak without you, And you weren’t willing to hold all my fire Even with all that water, my flames are still reckless   We were both cradled by waves, Rocked by the sound of seagulls, Ate our sandwiches out of plastic buckets   Last month I fumbled every fiery part of me into the open mouth of a kayak for the first time in years, Held the paddle in both hands, still pretending like I know what I’m doing, Each stroke splatters lake water onto my face, it gets into my mouth, I am smiling so big   You own a kayak of your own now, Step into it with much more grace than the hot coals on my feet could ever manage, There’s a hook for your fishing rod and …