A co-op of online writing
adrianpfox8@gmail.com
online poetry cafe
TINA ROCK
Natures orchestra Whipping bark lilt'n harmony Of voices keening songs The ancestor calls The dancers of nature Steppin out King of the forest-Oak Sturdy green limbs The shy girl-Willow Without her petti- Coat accepts hand Bend of knee swirls in motion.
online poetry cafe
TINA ROCK
Natures orchestra Whipping bark lilt'n harmony Of voices keening songs The ancestor calls The dancers of nature Steppin out King of the forest-Oak Sturdy green limbs The shy girl-Willow Without her petti- Coat accepts hand Bend of knee swirls in motion.
Selected Poems
Published
by Liberties Press
Moyra
Donaldson has assimilated the powerful
influences
of Yeats, Hewitt, Hughes, Longley
and Heaney, together
with
Plath and Liz Lochhead, to
present a
hard-won distinctive self…’
- Medbh
McGuckian
http://annaliviareview.blogspot.co.uk
Anybody from any genre can send me writing, even before my stroke
I had the vision of creating an anthology I still have that vision and that
passion for writing. I’m lucky ina sense that my stroke wasn’t a severe
head injury that didn’t reach my brain ha ha I think. Writers I think
need a little madness, any age group can send me writing and any form of
writing as this is not a poetry or prose workshop it’s a
writing of the moment workshop.
PHOETRY
GEORGE WEIR
RHYMED TIME
'loving them all the way back to the source
loving everything that increases me'
Raymond Carver
The current of literature flows
And I stream the stream.
I don’t know what kind of fish
This is until I land it, I’m writing
This for me, to find the current
Flow and to know that it’s
A big bastard. You have to know
Where the current flows
And when to let it go. The scales
Are black and silver and it swim’s
Every colour in between. It me-
Anders through the water as if
It knows it can’t be caught.
This for me, to find the current
Flow and to know that it’s
A big bastard. You have to know
Where the current flows
And when to let it go. The scales
Are black and silver and it swim’s
Every colour in between. It me-
Anders through the water as if
It knows it can’t be caught.
It’s big
and bold and beautiful
It’s been hooked a thousand
Times but this isn’t about
The hooking its about its
About the killing time. Time
Is a big fish landed in this
It’s been hooked a thousand
Times but this isn’t about
The hooking its about its
About the killing time. Time
Is a big fish landed in this
'IF YOU CANNOT BE A POET
BE THE POEM'
Spring Wildflowers in a Woodland Garden
A melting
pot of Glory-Bluebells bobbing-Fern unfurling-Sorrel smiling-Horse Chestnut
fingers waving-Lavender Blooming-Viola hiding-Daisy dancing-Ladies Mantle
beauty dew-Montbrethia stretching-Lady's smock the Cuckoo calls-
Marsh Marigold bathing-A Frog hopping-
Trowel resting-Plantain nesting in a wall -
Moss in pretty pink-Rhododendron rising-
I hear the gossip of their Bloom.
TINA ROCK
JAX LECK
Nightdreams
Dreams are
my bolthole
I close
out the world
become my
alter ego
The
writer of wrongs
The chaos
of reality dim
As solutions are found
To the insurmountable hurdles
Of my daily life
Empowerment surges
the burnt kittens
the butchered dolphins
never happened
Religion reads its scriptures
And understands the words
Politically masked self interest
is not de rigeur
becomes non sequiteur
I can feel the contentment
well-being and joy
I breathe deep and long
For morning when...
the dreaming stops
reality kicks in
the cloak of invincibility drops
I am left, vulnerable
As solutions are found
To the insurmountable hurdles
Of my daily life
Empowerment surges
the burnt kittens
the butchered dolphins
never happened
Religion reads its scriptures
And understands the words
Politically masked self interest
is not de rigeur
becomes non sequiteur
I can feel the contentment
well-being and joy
I breathe deep and long
For morning when...
the dreaming stops
reality kicks in
the cloak of invincibility drops
I am left, vulnerable
POARTRY
BARRY KERR
IN-TURN-MEANT
My command of Lowell is
in
my birth date fall of
1961, John
Keats is in melancholic
autumn
leaves, Kavanagh is the
ditch way
down in Muckers shuck,
Frost is in
the snow and ive got
miles to go be-
fore I know, Akmatova
is in the O-
pressers boot stamping
down on me.
Poetry is within the
sensing feeling
sea like Raymond
Carver's current is
in the fish brave and
strong and true
the command is deep
within me
and deep, deep, deep in you.
PHOETRY
The
Rippled sky
by
Tina Rock
THE CLOCK FLOWER
As far as
the rest of the universe is concerned,
Maybe
we’re like the feather-fluff of the clock flower,
The
ghostly snow-sphere of the dying dandelion
That
the child holds up in wide-eyed wonder,
Which the
mother says to blow on to tell the time
By
how many breath-blows it takes before the airy seed
All flies
away, leaving her child clutching a bare stem.
And
where our humanness might go, who knows?
And when it lands – takes
root – what grows?
SOMETIMES I THINK
Sometimes I think that my happiest days
Have been spent in bookshops;
Especially when everything’s in bloom,
When the trees have hung out
Their flags on every street,
And the clouds have gone AWOL
Or been safely penned
By that orange collie of the skies:
Even then you can’t keep me
From feasting my eyes
On those book-shelved spines.
It’s then that I’m in my element
Because, because there’s magic in the book.
Even Hewitt, custodian of reason,
Was moved to heresy as he took me
By the elbow in his house
To tour his library, his working collection,
And pointed to a buckramed book
Selected poems by Matthew Rice
Anomaly
(Auschwitz, 1943)
His careful, intimate hands
cupped like a pilgrim,
the man with the big smile,
carrying sweets for the children.
cupped like a pilgrim,
the man with the big smile,
carrying sweets for the children.
Three Hares
‘They were trees, and trees
don’t weep or ache or shout.
And trees are all this poem is about.’ –
from ‘Two Trees’ by Don Paterson
What direction
that trio of brown hares took,
spirit-bounding across my sight,
has nothing so much to do with omen
as with any Boudica style tit for tat.
They disappeared around the cafe corner:
into mystery, perhaps,
but still wholly in the world –
and that was that.
(First published in Live
Encounters, October 2016)
The Weight of a Rock
to the end they will look at us
with a calm and a very clear eye
Zbigniew Herbert, ‘Pebble’
with a calm and a very clear eye
Zbigniew Herbert, ‘Pebble’
The rock in my hand
is unconcerned by the human value
is unconcerned by the human value
I place in its symbolism,
that the weight of a rock
that the weight of a rock
is easier borne than the soul,
by being inside my fisted palm
by being inside my fisted palm
or how light it feels to me.
It is impervious to the tightening of my fingers
It is impervious to the tightening of my fingers
and,
when I open my hand,
the swelling emptiness it leaves.
the swelling emptiness it leaves.
MONICA WATSON
Today's poem.
Into my mirror has walked - Brian patten.
Into my mirror has walked
A woman who will not talk of love
Or of its subsidiaries,
But who stands there
Pleased with her own silence.
The weather has worn into her
All seasons known to me,
In one breast she holds
Evidence of forests,
In the other, of seas.
CARDBOARD CITY
Last night, while leisurely
reading on the toilet, I be-
came aware of a strange
heat against my bare right
Leg, caused by the card-
board side of Huggies
Diaper box, emblazoned
with the promise, Snug
and Dry.
I immediately thought
of people living in card-
board cities; Of just
how grateful one
could be for card-
board warmth.ADRIAN RICE
New blog, old on at https://poetryfree.blogspot.com.
GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS REWRIT BY ADRIAN FOX
WOEDAY
No worse, there is none. Pitched past grief
More pangs will, school, wilder wring.
Comforter, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother where is your relief?
My cries heave, herd long, huddle in
A world of sorrow, wince sing an age old
Anvil, lull release.
Fury shrieks no ling-
Erroring! Force my cry is brief.
O the mind, mountainous, sheer cliffs
No man has fathomed.
Life is cheap
For those who never hung.
Our small
Indurance doesn’t deal steep or deep.
Here creep under a comfort there
Is a whirlwind you don’t know.
All life death ends each day with Sleep.
