All posts tagged: New Poetry

“English Breakfast Love Song” and other poems by Rhiannon Grant

English Breakfast Love Song   I am longing to pour out my soul to you in words which show my creativity and let off my head of steam but my soul is not so liquid it comes out in funny lumps uneven like old-fashioned sugar ready to make sure your tea is always too sweet and never sweet enough. Unengaged Concepts   Your thin God – onmithis, omnithat— is nothing beside the wildness of Goddess.   Love and suffering may have reasons but are not rational.   You say we can know about ‘chastity’ without living it.   Really?   Outside a seminar in a thick press of people could you look the right way maintain your dress just so be chaste in soul in ways you cannot describe?   You can use the word ‘God’ in a sentence.   So far, so good.   Do not presume to know what my God is like: how flowers dance for Her how Thou is there in silence how His sentences would make no sense to you. …

‘sunday DARTS and my phone’s dead’ and other poems by Alicia Byrne Keane

sassy ghost sometimes I’m startled by how perfectly my boots land when I take them off in poses too outrageous to plan like a dandy has strode into the room and is posturing, invisible, in my boots i can’t draw shoes it makes me restless (the art room of my school with its swelling cabin roof like an overturned ship, the teacher played the bon iver album with skinny love on it on repeat all the time the song makes me sleepy and cold)   i can’t draw shoes, when i try they look like puddles or ghosts everything about them less certain on inspection the soles worn in places so the line will look uneven on the page (the fear that no-one would know you were accurately capturing the wobbly bits)   When we came out that morning everything was covered in ice We talked about so much stuff that I can’t remember Any of it really, just that I was nervous in a good way And that we slept surrounded by paintings You’d …

“Hair” and other poems by Kasey Shelley

My Name Is 1 Kasey 2 Bailer Kascerd Kasmeister Macy Bae 3 Casey Katie Tracey Lisa Chelsea Shelley 4 Bitch Slut Cunt Whore Prick tease Damp yoke 5 Kasim Kas Princess Hon Love Hard Work When the boy texts you to cancel your date, saying you’re hard work, say “OK”. Say “Thank you”. This will confuse him, obviously. He will be expected to respond with “How?!” “Why?!”, starting an argument, thus proving, you are hard work. When he writes back “what for?” you do not respond. When he texts you the next day saying “ah hun, babe” you still do not respond. He has already given up on something that did not have the chance to begin. Besides, you like men. Men who know what they want and go for it. Men who do not masquerade their own insecurities in yours. So you’re hard work because your walls are higher now than they were at what, sixteen? Well, he should now be taller than he was at sixteen. When you threw over a rope and …

‘The Scarecrow Christ’ and other poems by Shirley Bell

The Scarecrow Christ The fields are flat and brown, it’s hard to think they’ll ever stand high with corn, flare with rape again this summer. For now the scarecrows lurch at crazy angles. They trail old coats and rags. Polythene bags flap around the suggestions of their shoulders. And yet the wind lifts their shoddy clothes and they are touched with magic; they always seem about to fly. It’s Sunday and I’ve taken you to Chapel. Everything is grey and earnest. There’s no incense here, though a sense of well-meaning sifts gently through the air. I don’t think I belong. It’s Lent and the sermon is all about temptation. I feel I would not pass those tests. Now I see distraction in the corner of my eyes; a painting. When I can, I take a picture on my phone. It shows me strips of cloth, snarled around an empty cross, a tenuous fabric lifting in air currents, tangled with light. Something. Nothing. Faith, elusive as a sigh. A scarecrow pinned to a stick. Leaning forwards, …

‘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 …