‘Nightmare’ and ‘The Fall’ Eleanor Hooker

Nightmare   A cobalt night in blue relief and the hunt begins. The green grass black and the talking baby frightens me. Bug eyed horrors hover in our shadows, lingering, carnivorous. Wailing now to let him stay, He stumbles after, the talking baby.    Drop under the yickety yackety picket fence. A treacherous fork in the…

Cutting the cloth to fit the wearer, recent press about women poets.

This post is a short form critique based on recent media coverage of those women poets who had not alone dared to hoist their poetic-petards, but to have achieved a popularity which is altogether more meaty than winsome domestic. Last week, I alluded in my Tweets and indeed in this blog to the issue of…