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 was one among many 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 others).

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,
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, wolves in forests,
across hidden borders,
one one one,
step step step
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.

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

And then, he has to walk again,
all the way
back to where he came.

by Marie Lightman