FRINGE POETRY FESTIVAL TWO
Published by SeaQuake Books
Copyright 2015. Individual contributors.
Shakespir Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors. Publisher contact: [email protected] Contributors contact: www.facebook.com/writinginsouthport
A perfect star
It was a perfect star, not fallen
but washed up
on the beach,
stranded half way between sea and sand dune.
I stared a while, savouring sweet strawberry ice.
Sorry to see it
burning out in the sunshine.
Up above, alive and free,
dozens of dazzling coloured kites dipped and dived, whooshing as they went.
Spiralling, spinning, ripping downwards through warm, salt scented air
before breathing a moment on sandy beds, ready to rise again.
My brother found a forgotten key.
I prised the rough relic from his sticky, smaller palm, imprisoned it in my own.
until we started to build the city.
It took forever to carve out countless windows.
Then, as it stood resplendent in shells
we crowned it with a feather.
When Mum said it was time I nearly forgot
to scratch a keyhole in the castle door with the leftover lolly stick
and, while my brother wasn’t watching, I laid down the key
so that another star might see it and stay there safe
until the sea came back.
She Shouldn’t Have to Wait
“I’ll die in this room, shan’t I?” mother asked.
It startled me to know she knew I’d called.
She named her favourite flowers. I stood appalled
By drips and pans and tubes, my feelings masked
From all-day-smiling nurses, who were tasked
To restore life to patients who lay sprawled
In high-tech beds -while Nature’s engines stalled.
“How wonderful is death; in vain I’ve asked
To let his soft hand break this strand I reeve…..
Set wide his gate to Nothing. Please make plain
That when I’m gone, wrack and pain go too.”
When dogs in busy traffic leap and weave
We’ll harm them if we frantic shout their name:
Then why call her? She bravely wanted through.
Sunday Afternoon 1967
Cerise peaks of Angel Delight
stand to attention in stainless steel
dessert dishes. Mine is achingly close,
forbidden until the last curl
of egg and cress is consumed.
I anticipate the sprinkle of hundreds
and thousands; watch their colours seep
into soft edged rainbows.
We’re ordered to eat slowly with a teaspoon,
our budget doesn’t run to large portions,
I can’t help myself and it disappears
in a staccato of metal and metal.
I slyly lick the bowl, forgetting
that mothers are all seeing;
the single second helping goes to my sister.
I vow to hide her favourite doll.
Baby clean, haloed by the
Pink haze of disinfectant,
Hair capped back,
I’m marked with the sign of the cross,
The place where the knife enters,
Cuts through bone and nerves.
The surgeon said the scar will be ‘this big’
Stretching his hand, wide as it would go.
My unblemished skin mourns
Dancing frocks I will never wear.
Blue hospital nightdress folded
At the end of my bed,
Balloons into life with
Frayed white tags,
Three hours until theatre,
This is the unknowing time,
A dubious bliss of ignorance.
On waking I will be told
News I cannot
Refuse to hear.
Trees wave outside my window.
One nurse told me you can hear Blackpool Zoo;
Cries carry both ways by the wind.
A Knock on the Door
In retrospect it was nothing but
the first warning stroke of the brush
starting but not completing the cross
At the time however it seemed
more akin to the thundering rake
of cannons in full destructive force
Then came rush and bustle and control
followed by an unexpected awakening
to an electronically guided existence
where facsimiles of those early waves
from which our ancestral life first sprang
Charted the current viability of living
The gradual release from that unscheduled womb
led me to this marginally different world
where taking for granted is no longer an option
We hope that you enjoyed ‘The Fringe Poetry Festival 2’. For more information please go to www.facebook.com/writinginsouthport.
Other books from the same publisher include-
The Fringe Poetry Festival One.
The Fringe Poetry Festival Three
CQEC Journal, Inter-Agency Working
One True Thing
CQEC Journal, Regeneration in the North West
The Fringe Poetry on the Move Three
The Fringe Poetry on the Move Two
The Fringe Poetry on the Move One
Darren and George
'The Fringe Poetry Festival Two' is a pamphlet of poetry from poets based in the North West of England. It is distributed in pubs, cafes, libraries, shops, buses and trains. In fact, anywhere the public may have time to read some interesting pieces of writing. The pamphlets and ebooks are published by SeaQuake Books. The idea behind the initiative is to bring poetry to a wider audience. The poets included in this particular pamphlet are Anna Mills, Jacky Pemberton, Mike Parsons, Steve Beattie, Bob Eccleston