Postcard – 31st January 2014

hyacinth postcard

How strange not to trust natural things to grow,
but when I bought cut price hyacinths from the
supermarket, watered them, perhaps overwatered,
the tips seemed black and I could see no action
even when moved to a lighter spot, I doubted.
I wrote them off and forgot. They grew anyway.

How strange not to trust strangers to be human.
Saturday morning and an unknown neighbour
picked something from his rucksack by our wall.
My instincts assumed he was going to litter our
front weed patch. I lurched to bang the window,
then I stopped because he was making a roll up.

Meanwhile, our son re-cries my childhood tears.
We are united over three decades of frustration
because a treble twenty feels impossible to find.
Then we practice drills, forget to aim higher but
learn to aim true. Refining our mechanics of trust,
sometimes our darts go where we want them to.

Review of ‘Das Gedichtete’ by Patrick James Dunagan published

Along with continuing to work on my own projects, one of my hopes for 2014 is to be able to contribute to the wider literary community by writing book reviews.

The first book I had the opportunity to review was ‘Das Gedichtete’ by Patrick James Dunagan. The review has been published by The Small Press Book Review and you can read it here.

The Pop Art Challenge

This is an older poem, written in 2012, but on a rainy Friday like today, it might be worth a dust down.

The Pop Art Challenge

Not even Andy Warhol listened to
Andy Warhol.
In an open plan office,
in Hertfordshire, with coffee and parking,
that does not throb, but steadily taps

a dull, diffused, dressed down rhythm,
the sound of a gradual compensation
of irritations and half-entitled claims,
a Friday whisper in an autumn dusk,

sat in a cubicle, blue fabric partitions
with pinned pictures of a mountaintop,
a child’s smile, a spouse blu-tacked
to the side of a computer screen,

is a man, not an avatar, a man who,
breast-plate shining in the striplights,
is working in the full armour of a knight,
thirteenth century, Plantaganet style,

checking a spreadsheet, a routine
monitoring of the pulse of enterprise,
and a spectral Andy Warhol appears
like a virus on the screen, whispering

‘you know, repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,’

and the knight considers this for a
brief moment, triangulating New York,
Hertfordshire, imagination, and death,
and, with his left gauntlet, presses Esc.

First Review of Anatomy

It’s an exciting day. The first review of Anatomy has been posted onto Goodreads.

The writer of the review won a copy of the book in the recent give away I did through Goodreads.

Here’s what she says:

“Loved it..brilliant clever intimate …between couple can see hesitancy in beginning poems and more honest in depth trust and vulnerability in the middle to ending poems…puzzling at times…i already have favorite quotes from anatomy. …received a copy for free from goodreads first reads. **** 4 Stars”