Saturday, 19 September 2015

Time of the snow

This is the first poem in my new collection, The Spaces in Between,
published in September 2015, by Pinewood Press. Details of how to buy the book are below.

Time of the snow

She wanted to remember what time it was.
She knew, in years to come,
she would want to know
the exact moment,
so she could recall it all.
All the detail.

She would want to count it.
Minute by minute.

So she looked at the clock
and watched the snow falling outside,
deepening the coldness,
filling the world
layer on layer
minute on minute
hour on hour.

She watched the minutes pile up
while inside, time was still.
She knew the moment he went,
she felt the press of his hand on hers,
she looked at the snow,
she forgot the clock,
time froze

The Spaces in Between, published by Pinewood Press, Swansea, £8, is available from: 

local bookshops in the Cardigan area,

direct from me by mail order: email --

or on Amazon:

Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Tilting at titles

This poem is a bit of fun, made up of the titles of the poetry collections that I find on my bookshelves, plus one or two novels and short story collections, most of them by friends. See credits below.

Tilting at titles
(a found poem)

After 60 years of loving
it’s just you, me and the birds
working out the meaning of flight
while my family and other superheroes
are playing house
and the kith are strumming a banjo
until the dying notes fade
into the spaces in between.
We tilt and listen
to the thought of fresh rain
while turning the pages of
the scrap book
and we write in the fire diary
and we look
to find the road towards humanity
and to search out the white tower
and, maybe, to come back to Avalon,
or perhaps we’ll just end up at no. 52
on the Broadstairs road and be
in Margate by lunchtime.

With thanks to:
Maggie Harris, Alan Kellerman, Christopher Meredith, Jonathan Edwards, Katherine Stansfield, Jo Bell, Samantha Wynne Rhydderch, Reuben Woolley, Ros Hudis, Martin Locock, Adam Horovitz, Carly Holmes, Dave Urwin, Liz Whittaker, Ann Byrne-Sutton and the 52 project.

The road from Damascus

Many poets, and others, have been moved to write by the refugee crisis that is currently affecting many hundreds of thousands of people. This poem of mine will soon join the very moving work of many other poets on the online anthology set up by Marie Lightman – Writers for Calais refugees. Many of the refugees in Calais are aware of this site and have asked for printed copies of the anthology to share. We hope it will be possible to supply some. The image on this page gives some idea why people have to walk away.

The road from Damascus

He still has the key to his house,
safe in his pocket,
but there is no house now,
and his key will fit no other door
in the world.

He walks away from the dust of his home,
and the wreck of his family
and he walks,
one step at a time,
one festering foot in front of the other,
hope a distant memory,
despair a constant companion,
determination his friend,
he walks,
mile on mile,
one way,
hour after hour,
day on day,
pain on pain,
he has to keep walking,
away from his wife,
from his children,
he has to walk
to give them hope,
he has to walk away,
keep walking,
keep stepping
one in front of the other,
ignore the pain,
step on step,
stones and rocks,
hurt on hurt
smarting sores,
throbbing head,
freezing in mountains,
soaking in thunderstorms,
thirsting in desert heat,
dodging gangs,
avoiding wolves in forests,
across hidden borders,
step step step
one one one,
just one man,
one father,
one husband,
one step
at a time
one way
on and on,
miles to go,
day on day,
if he can find food,
yes, water, please,
somewhere to sleep,
if he can sleep,
if he can keep walking
keep going
on and on,
one day,
one day,
step step
on on and on

into a tunnel,

every step a small death,
every one a possible future,
step after step,
on and on,
one, one, one
step, step, step,
pain on pain,
falling, get up again.
walk, walk,
on and on.
Keep walking
into the tunnel.
On. On. On.

by Marie Lightman

Friday, 4 September 2015

Finding music

A friend of mine wrote a 'found' poem this week for a bit of fun. She used book titles on her shelf. I have copied the idea, but used titles of CDs instead, just a bit of fun, but I am not disappointed with the result!

Finding music

So far so good
I should say,
as we walk into the
magical ring
of Highway 61 revisited
and into the music
of modern times
and legend.

But the times they are a changing,
we need to let go the old ideas
and be new travelling souls
ready to meet the piper at the gates of dawn,
maybe, on an island.

And there we’ll play the healing game
until we are back on top.
Say you will,
oh, say you will.
I wish you were here
so we could play the game
and see pictures at an exhibition
in a summer garden
where the bramble briar hangs

See the astounding eyes of Rita,
know that we are travelling souls,
and that the river of sound
carries our love,
until it is a thousand kisses deep.