Category: Lyric poem

Flying Corgette, by Jackie Juno


By Robert Garnham

FLYING COURGETTE

I took a courgette out for a walk
Boris Johnson made me do it
Have you heard that sinister meringue talk?
I slipped on some fresh new bullshit.
I know that he’s lying
the courgette went flying

My baby is a jumbo jet
my supersonic mean courgette
see how high he flies
they’re building castles in the sky

Careful what you agree to
wipe the wool from your eyes
cauliflowers have ears now
there are parsnips in disguise
my potatoes are totally mashed
I think that’s why I crashed

We’re in a stew, me and you
we’re up to our necks in gravy
we’re in a pickle, Dr Jekyll
can you smell burning, baby?

My baby is a jumbo jet
my supersonic mean courgette
see how high he flies
they’re building castles in the sky

Jackie Juno is a performance poet based in Devon. Her website can be found at http://www.jackie-juno.com

 

Model Boat Club Blues by Charlotte Harker


By Robert Garnham

The decline began after a spree of sinkings.
I think it was a submarine.
Someone is disobeying the finely streamlined rules.
I am facing a flotilla of ruse,
I’ve got those model boat club blues.

I am losing the plot and my concentration,
I keep getting the bow and the stern mixed up,
I’m caught in a storm at a lake so artificial,
Infighting and resignation over the sailing schedule,
Should a clipper give way to a frigate?
Yet more dispute,
I’ve got those model boat club blues.

In the clubhouse I’ve lost direction and rudderless
I struggle to make a course correction
to keep this armada in some order,
but there is no denying we are taking on water; oh whatever,
I am always on board,
to hell with the weather,
this is my ship and I’m going down with it,
I’ve got those model boat club blues.

Charlotte Harker is a Writer, Artist and Performance Poet. Her first collection of illustrated poems ‘The Wear and Tear of Conversation’ was published in 2018. Further information can be found at https://www.dempseyandwindle.com/charlotteharker.html

 

Dr Frankenstein’s Beauty Tips for Monsters, by F.R. Kesby


By Robert Garnham

You trawled through Bikini Babes. You searched in Hottest Celebs. You scoured Fitness Goal Bods. You rifled through Silky Skinned Sirens. You poured over Instagram Stars You Wish You Were.

You snipped yourself a pair of perfect legs. You chose a flawless face. You cut out a pair of breath-taking breasts. You tore out luxurious locks. You selected a set of stupendous abs.

You pick out what they tell you is desirable. Is desired. You make yourself a beautiful monster. Each hole you cut in a magazine is a hole you cut in yourself.

F. R. Kesby is a poet and storyteller from Leeds. She has headlined gigs including for Stirred, Word Club and NeurodiVERSE and her work has appeared in magazines and journals such as OFI, Laldy and Strix. She also writes for Spoons and Toons (https://faykesby.wordpress.com/) and Women’s Republic (http://www.womensrepublic.net/author/fay-kesby/).

 

Malacophagy, by Mark Totterdell


By Robert Garnham

In a pub that overlooked saltwater,
I ate a heap of mussels,
so sweet, so soft, I never tasted better,
well worth the mess and hassle.

On the beach at Sidmouth, one damp summer,
I chewed into a whelk,
a plug of solid snot or slimy rubber
not fit for decent folk.

In a big marquee one time, in public,
I went down on an oyster.
The sea was rising, falling in my gullet
for what seemed ever after.

By the Med, with chips, I chomped on suckers
of deep-fried octopus.
I fear my smart and subtle distant cousin
was hardly well-served thus.
 
‘Mark Totterdell’s poems have appeared widely in magazines and have occasionally won competitions. His collections are ‘This Patter of Traces’ (Oversteps Books, 2014) and ‘Mapping’ (Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2018; http://www.indigodreams.co.uk/mark-totterdell/4594336680).’ 

 

Pleasure, by Hilary Willmott


By Robert Garnham

Like finest Belgian truffles she rolls them around her lips,
delicacies to be savoured, rotund parcels of delight.
She lets her tongue caress their secrets, teasing herself,
tracing them with her lips, backwards and forwards.
She knows it’s wrong, there will be reprisals.
But it’s too late to stop – her need is overwhelming
and as she flicks her tongue, one pouch disappears
into her salivating mouth. Oblivious to the pained cries
for her to stop, she swallows. One satisfied canine.
One less piece of horse shit on the towpath.

Hilary has been writing since her schooldays many decades ago. She sees poetry as a companion who is much braver than she, taking her to places she wouldn’t dare venture on her own. She has been published by Templar Press, Spilling Cocoa over Martin Amis, Flarestack, Leaf and Velvet. She has also been shortlisted for national competitions. She lives by the river in the south west of England.

 

Surveillance Drills by Dave Weaver


By admin

I hovered lonely as a drone
That floats on high o’er council slum,
When all at once I saw a lone
Drug-dealer plus attendant scum;
Along the Lane near Tottenham’s stands,
Ten thousand pound’s worth changing hands.

The waves of fans beside them dragged
Enshrouded in their coloured scarves:
A hoodie could not be face-tagged
Among such crowds on heaving paths:
I scanned – and scanned – but little saw
The details of their hidden score:

For oft when I am in the clouds
My GPS in relay mode,
And gyroscopes a-spinning loud
While I a new target download,
Find mere surveillance hard to bear:
I want to kick some arse down there!

Dave Weaver was a late developer as a writer. In the last four years he has had three novels published by speculative fiction publishers Elsewhere Press and his fourth, a psychological drama called ‘The Unseen’, is due out this summer. He has self-published two collections of short stories in Kindle format and has had work published online and in various anthologies including two pieces in the upcoming Rattle Tales 4 anthology.

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