Internet Dating, by Fiona Sinclair

Internet dating

At first my ‘best side' photo is mobbed by men
so feel like Scarlett O'Hara at a ball,
until I discover lads seeking carefree cougar sex
or a meal ticket,
and from my own demographic;
inquiries after my hosiery,
and panting mobile numbers.

I search through my matches past Kray twin lookalikes,
married men wearing tell-tale dark glasses,
sad self portraits with bed sit back grounds,
for the handful of guys I might accept a drink from-

beginning to e-flirt with grin and wink emoticons,
over the week I virtual two time
men from Rochester and Deal,
who bus stop chat about work and their tea,
neither making the gear change up to seduction.
Difficult I suppose for most blokes
who barely scrawl a birthday card for mum,
to strike a balance between " Hello Sexy" and " It's raining here",
and write me into bed with Casanova craft.

Fiona Sinclair ‘s new collection Second Wind will be published by Dempsey and Windle Press, in Spring 2022. Her poems, which are broadly autobiographical, deal with the possibilities of later life; from learning to ride pillion on a motor bike to falling in love again. Fiona is also very open when writing about her health issues especially depression. Yet despite this her collections are full of humour and an exuberance for adventures when they present themselves. She lives in a village in Kent with a great many books and a feral garden that she battles with every year.

 

Waiting, by Patricia Phillips-Batoma

Waiting

The pharmacy texts to say
my covid booster is waiting
and my flu shot too.

My booster sits with her legs crossed
in one of their uncomfortable chairs,
her foot swinging in palpable agitation.

She checks the time on her new device
in a pink glitter-encrusted case
with a few choice emoji stickers.

My flu shot sits straight-backed
with both feet on the floor
and reads a book.

She slips it inside a canvas bag
to check out the reading glasses,
the new ones, with animal print motifs.

One of these Friday evenings
I’ll wander in and bring them home
one in each arm.

Patricia Phillips-Batoma is a French to English translator and teacher who lives in central Illinois, USA. Her poems have been published in Plants & Poetry, Parentheses, Offcourse, and Tuck Magazine. She can be reached at phillipsbatoma@gmail.com.

 

An Asinine Poem, by Bruce Morton

OK, somebody had to do it.
Get their ass in gear, so to speak,
And in so doing plant their butt
To write about the human posterior
Exterior—arse, heinie, tush, the fanny.
I am bummed that it had to be me.
But here we are. I am bummed that
It took us this long. We are not talking
About pirate’s booty here, but what
The French call the derrière, or shaken,
The can-can, oo-la-la. Accountants tell
Us we are in arrears when we get behind.
So would it be impolitic or cheeky of me
To assert that assholes who congregate
To legislate invariably are a rump
Session? At bare bottom, I must conclude
That all of this is but a prelude to us
Being sent head over keister, only to land
On the backside of our front side. I will not
Speak of the glutes in absolutes, because
That would, of course, entail deep-seated
Knowledge of the anatomy of the behind
Anything and everything. But I do know
That, like trains, we have a caboose, while
The Navy has Rear Admirals and poop decks,
And the simple automobile has a trunk
Where the elephant has its tail.

Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have appeared in many magazines, most recently Ibbetson Street, Muddy River Poetry Review, Sheila-Na-Gig, London Grip, ONE ART, and Ink Sweat & Tears. He was formerly dean at Montana State University.

 

Excuses, Excuses by Neil Fulwood

EXCUSES, EXCUSES

Blame the “anti-growth coalition”
Blame every woke lefty on television
Blame the immigrants dinghy-ing into Britain
But don’t blame Liz

Blame those scruffs in Extinction Rebellion
Blame that baldy bloke and his union
Blame everyone who’s Scouse or Mancunian
But don’t blame Liz

Blame Nicola Sturgeon and all the Scots
Blame that Irish fella, the bloody tea sock
Blame Boris for being a fat useless cock
But don’t blame Liz

Blame FB and Twitter and the death of the Queen
Blame that Kuenssberg woman for going off-team
Blame Keir Starmer for shaving so clean
But don’t blame Liz

Blame Michael Gove for opening his gob
Blame the Bank of England for doing their job
Blame the … the … oh, fuck it, just call them the mob
But don’t blame Liz

Neil Fulwood has published three collections with Shoestring Press, ‘No Avoiding It’, ‘Can’t Take Me Anywhere’ and ‘Service Cancelled’. A collection of political satires, ‘Mad Parade’ was published earlier this year by Smokestack Books. Neil lives and works in Nottingham.

 

When you type Liz Truss into a Random Title Generator – A Found Poem by Ben Macnair

 
5 Ways LIZ TRUSS Will Help You Get More Business
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The Thief of Rhyme, by Sandra Bond

THE THIEF OF RHYME


One morning in the summertime
I ran into the Thief of Rhyme.
I said “Good day” and “how’d’ye’do?
I’m Sandra Bond, and who are you?”

He grinned at me, and showed his teeth,
And said “Of rhyme I am the thief;
I steal from poets every day,
And then their rhymes all go to hell.”

I found, alas, that it was so;
My rhymes were gone, I had no more,
I couldn’t make them work a damn,
And was nonplussed what to do next.

I hoped good luck might come my way;
Instead I met the Scansion Thief,
Who took away my ability to make poems scan,
And now they’re as blank as a very blank thing indeed.
They don’t even all have the same number of lines per stanza any more.
Oh bloody hell.

Sandra Bond is a Staffordshire novelist, poet and tragedian who
considers it most unfair that writing one piece of verse every month
or so does not attract a living wage. Her first novel, THE PSYCHOPATH
CLUB, was published in 2021.
https://www.sandra-bond.com/

 

Live Laugh Love, by Roise Curran

“Live Laugh Love”
-Kim Jong Un

Former housemate Cillian (from Donegal)
bought him on Amazon for £12.99
and hung him high in the kitchen/living room
for all passers-by to admire his great glory.

He looks mighty chuffed
in front of his military sub,
and, cigarette in hand,
is quoted saying “live, laugh, love”
in beautiful curly cursive,
so, all us Irish twenty-whatever year olds
can look upon his superiority
and salute while preaching
our daily affirmations.

Right before we take our own cigarette
and burn a little hole in the flag fabric,
place a stolen public toilet sign over his head,
and drunkenly use him as a makeshift tea towel.

We’re just doing as we’re told, respected comrade,
We’re “live, laugh, love”-ing

Róise Curran is a 19 year old poet from Galway who has barely published any work but will get around to it eventually. She started writing when she was 15 as a way to express her disdain for school but I suppose she’s moved on a little. Now, she writes poems about all sorts of things like moving out, mental health and a good few about her cats. You’ll likely be hearing from her soon, she never shuts up (which is a good thing!)

 

Not an Epic, by Terri Metcalfe

Not an Epic

With my attention span,
I don’t write long poems
hanging off the ends of sentences
veering into the weather forecast

scattered wordy periods.

I chance the occasional romance
with assonance but like snow in May,
it bewilders me so I let it melt

away. I’ve always felt
I am four stanzas average,
five and I risk an accidental plummet
into my shopping list. Boy with a mullet

on Shop Street, don’t go bringing
back hairstyles that should only ever
be fish...pie mix, juice, not from

Terri Metcalfe has been published in Abridged, A New Ulster, Green Ink Poetry, Spilling Cocoa and Skylight 47. She was shortlisted for the Open Window 2023 mentorship programme and will be a featured reader at the 20th anniversary of Over The Edge Literary Events held in Galway this January.

 

One’s Own, by Kevin Higgins

One's Own
after Virginia Woolf & Father Jack Hackett

My psychotherapist agrees
I need to get to a place
where I think less
about my own arse
and more about other people's.

Like most of you I've long,
on the quiet, been a keen amateur bottomist.
She thinks I should haul it to the next level
become writer-in-residence at a nudist colony
or regular weekend orgy of consenting literary theorists.

And when I retire from that
or, better still, get tossed brutally out the gate
for conduct unbecoming for even
a writer-in-residence at a nudist colony
or weekend orgy of consenting literary theorists

that I must sit by my upstairs window spying
through my hyper-sighted binoculars
the pump action thrusts of morning cyclists;
become so focused on theirs

that, to paraphrase Virginia Woolf, I neglect
entirely that one has, in fact,
an arse of one’s own,
and is indeed sitting on it.

KEVIN HIGGINS is co-organiser of Over The Edge literary events in Galway. He has published six full collections of poems: The Boy With No Face (2005), Time Gentlemen, Please (2008), Frightening NewFurniture (2010), The Ghost In The Lobby (2014), Sex and Death at Merlin Park Hospital (2019), &Ecstatic (2022). His poems also feature in Identity Parade – New British and Irish Poets (Bloodaxe, 2010) and in The Hundred Years’ War: modern war poems (Ed Neil Astley, Bloodaxe May 2014). Kevin was satirist-in-residence with the alternative literature website The Bogman’s Cannon 2015-16. 2016 – The Selected Satires of Kevin Higgins was published by NuaScéalta in 2016. The Minister For Poetry Has Decreed was published by Culture Matters (UK) also in 2016. Song of Songs 2:0 – New & Selected Poems was published by Salmon in Spring 2017. Kevin is a highly experienced workshop facilitator and several of his students have gone on to achieve publication success. He has facilitated poetry workshops at Galway Arts Centre and taught Creative Writing at Galway Technical Institute for the past fifteen years. Kevin is the Creative Writing Director for the NUI Galway International Summer School and also teaches on the NUIG BA Creative Writing Connect programme. His poems have been praised by, among others, Tony Blair’s biographer John Rentoul, Observer columnist Nick Cohen, writer and activist Eamonn McCann, historian Ruth Dudley Edwards, and Sunday Independent columnist Gene Kerrigan; and have been quoted in The Daily Telegraph, The Independent, The Times (London), Hot Press magazine, Phoenix magazine, The Daily Mirror and on The Vincent Browne Show, and read aloud by Ken Loach at a political meeting in London. He has published topical political poems in publications as various as The New European, The Morning Star, Dissent Magazine (USA), Village Magazine (Ireland), & Harry’s Place. The Stinging Fly magazine has described Kevin as “likely the most widely read living poet in Ireland”. Kevin’s poetry has been translated into Greek, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Albanian, French, Russian, & Portuguese. One of Kevin’s poems features in A Galway Epiphany, the final instalment of Ken Bruen’s Jack Taylor series of novels which is just published. His work has been broadcast on RTE Radio, Lyric FM, and BBC Radio 4. His book The Colour Yellow & The Number 19: Negative Thoughts That Helped One Man Mostly Retain His Sanity During 2020 was published in late 2020 by Nuascealta. His extended essay Thrills & Difficulties: Being A Marxist Poet In 21st Century Ireland was published in pamphlet form by Beir Bua Press last year. In December 2021 Kevin was both expelled from the British Labour Party, of which he was an overseas member, for publishing his poem ‘Tribute Acts’ in Socialist Appeal magazine and, on the very same day, awarded ‘Poet of The Year’ at the Labour Heroes Awards event at Conway Hall, London. This year Kevin received a dozen nominations for the position of Ireland Chair of Poetry – Ireland’s Professor of Poetry. Ecstatic, Kevin’s sixth full poetry collection is just published by Salmon Poetry.