MERVYN LINFORD - SAMPLE POEM:

 

Hedgibet*

 

 

Thin and scratchy, that’s the sound of the dunnock:

the sound, if you like, of spring –

not yet full-throated

just beginnings

 

It floats, if floats is the word for a song,

above the celandine, the stitchwort and the sorrel

like a ghost of former springs and other people.

 

A sound that brings them back:

children I knew, now dead, in the woods

at One Tree Hill or Westley Heights –

arms full of bluebells before ecology

with ears attuned to the chiffchaff,

     the yaffle and the cuckoo.

 

Like the windup gramophone I found on Pitsea Tip:

the box of needles, Tommy Steele, Pat Boone,

     - The Laughing Policeman –

 

Thin and scratchy

            as I think of

                        all those boys

                                    the girls I fancied.

 

The spring, slack, unwound, unwindable:

going back a virtual recording in the mind

as the dunnock sings

 

- If sings

                          is the word

                                                          for a needle

 

in a groove –

 

          Stuck. Thin. Repetitive. Scratchy.

 

 

*(Hedge Accentor, Hedge Sparrow or Dunnock)

 

The above piece was a commended poem in the George Crabbe poetry competition of 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 NEIL LEADBEATER - SAMPLE POEM:

 

DOCK

 

How we mistreated you,

tore off your leaves

to rub against our skin

hoping that you would take the sting

out of living.

We hurt you

because we our selves were hurt.

We lashed out

and left the nettle alone.

It was cowardly, I know,

and our shame grew

like the green stain

you left on us -

the mark on the palm

of the hand.

 

 

Published in 'Finding the River Horse' Littoral Press 2017

 

 

Adrian Green - Sample Poem:

 

Chasing Dylan’s Muse in Rathbone Street

 

“To the drunken Welsh poet who staggered towards her through the smokey fug

               of The Wheatsheaf, she appeared an angelic beauty.”

                     (The Observer,  Sunday November 26, 2006)

 

A long way from Swansea

to this place, made famous

by your meeting

 

and it is hard to imagine the energy,

excess of words and ale,

the arguments and laughter

surrounding you.

 

The wooden panels oppress,

close down the space, and darken

the bar I sit and scribble in.

 

More serious now,

yet there is tradition,

a continuity of sorts,

while technicians,

dressed in studio black,

discuss the sound and lighting rigs

for future television shows.

 

A long way from turbulence

at the Taf rivermouth,

the boathouse quiet, or

drunken nights at Brown’s Hotel,

but here, at lunch,

I listen for echoes, wonder

at the photos fading on the walls.

 

Published in 'Chorus and Coda - Littoral Press 2007

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MAGGIE FREEMAN - SAMPLE POEM:

 

 

The Tower Door

 

These autumn evenings it's her turn

to lock the tower door. She approaches 

from inside, hesitates in the dark

of the stone walls. The door's shut

and through the keyhole the low sun

slices gold into the chamber.

It touches the dust, it spikes

her worn shoes, her skirt

her bodice as she draws closer.

It dissects her hand  - skin, veins, bones -

it lights the key -

 

Published in 'Singing for Mr Bear - littoral press 2014

 

CLARE HARVEY - SAMPLE POEM:

 

Swallows

 

Swallows like midshipmen,

tack across a field of flax,

gybing before the wind,

hawking for flies -

trawling in the hatch.

 

Buff bellies spraying pollen

instead of salt

as they heel into this heady

sea of flowers -

rise into mackerel sky.

 

Published in Double Vision by Clare Harvey & Mervyn Linford - Littoral Press 2015

 

 

DEREK ADAMS - SAMPLE POEM:

 

 

On the rocks

 

Hot sunlight sparkles across the Serpentine,

echoing in the bursting bubbles

it catch lights in our Cokes;                  

contrasted by the dull glint of the ice cubes.

 

Your words sail, windborne

on the slow grassy air,

they float gently,

over the white plastic glare

of the Plantery Bar  table,

"This is beautiful, I could stay here all day".

 

Ice clinks in your glass.

I bask in your presence,

blissfully unaware of the titanic finality

of this afternoon,

of what lies hidden behind your sunglasses.

 

Published in 'Everyday Objects and Chance Remarks' - Littoral Press 2005