via Wendy Pratt & Gifts the Mole Gave Me


Strix, Coast to Coast to Coast, new poems, Liverpool.


Roy Marshall

I like to keep an eye out for new poetry magazines.  Not only is it interesting to see what sort of writing the editors favour, I’m also keen to see how the magazines are physically put together; what shape and format they take, the artwork and print quality and style, the type of materials used.  The response times for many of the established journals is quite lengthy and so it is also refreshing to receive a quicker response. At launches I’ve attended recently there has been a great buzz with enthusiastic editors, organisers and poets attending. Funds permitting (they do not) I would subscribe to several of the new small magazines that have come out in the last year or so.  Some of my favourites are the Leeds based Strix magazine,  wonderful East Anglian based Fenland Reed     and the unique hand-sown Coast to Coast to Coast produced by…

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Food bank poem: Carolyn O’Connell

my little contribution

The Poetry Shed

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.
nourishThe Worker

She left home at six without breakfast
took the bus to her first client
washed him, served him bread & butter,
tea and ensured he was safe before she left.

For six hours she knocked at new doors
helping those who depended on her
as she drank water to keep going,
she was the only person to care

until her shift was over. She stopped
at the dark door to collect a box
of donated food, with a short shelf life,
from a stranger in a Food Bank jacket.

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Our Friend Tonia (by Liz Leech)

This is so beautiful ans a wonderful tribute to Tonia

Vale Royal Writers' Group Blog

I drove home from the meeting

Through a late evening sunset,

Blush pink in a sea of orange

That merged into that special

Clear blue of a hot summer nights’ sky

And thought of you,

Flitting through your garden

Touching this and that bloom

With a gentle caress of your hand.

You were not there tonight,

As we met and shared words

That tumbled and jostled

And vied for attention.

We will never hear again

That coy well enunciated brilliance

That you conjured up,

Well defined and honed

By your imagination.

You were not there, and yet

You will always be there

In step with us

Encouraging and urging us

Towards a higher level.

As you tripped through your garden,

You will tiptoe through our minds

Call us to book, and we

Will try just that little bit harder

To emulate that magic that was

Truly yours.

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Pathogen, by Bob Beagrie

I am not a silent poet

“Thy subjects blood
With fire and sword
Cries vengeance Lord.”

Parliamentarian motto from ‘The Great Eclipse of the Sun’, 1644.

“Hate begets hate;
violence begets violence;
toughness begets a greater toughness.”

Dr Martin Luther King, 1958

like someone forgot to turn the key, shoot the bolt,
guard the cage door and now its loose, running wild,
raging on pent-up retribution for its incarceration;
not hiding in the undergrowth, a hole in the ground
but behind a look, beneath a word, within a promise
travelling in a crowd forming clusters along chains
of transmission, hitchhiking on breath and bodily fluids,
a stowaway in an attitude, an illegal immigrant riding
the virulent fear of itself gone viral, breaking-out
with a swelling of symptoms: the sharpened accusations
of ‘susceptibles’, slammed doors, raised voices, dog shit
through the letter box, broken windows, burning homes,
a contagion of tears, smoking guns, targeted spot-checks,

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