fourteenpoems.com
The Last Lesbian
Bar in the Midlands by cleo henry
This first pamphlet
from Fourteen Poems as expected set a high bar, bringing together
literary and classical imagary with the authentic, earthy even,
experience of Lesbian life and love.
Keeper by
Mícheál
McCann
Already
a fan of Mícheál’s
work this is a delight.
from
Just Afer rain, 6 p.m. the line “Fallen rain falling again.” is
so good.
John
20:15 is a gem of a reflection on our relationships with our bodies
as much as it is an common on the resurrection – it will have to
make its way into an Open Table liturgy at some point.
Aubade
with Bombay Cat is a powerful study on love.
antonyms
for burial by ellora sutton
With a diverse range of form this is complex set of poems
One of them …
Moonshot
Pork chow mein in the park,
the meat red-lipped, girlish.
My new dress is ruined
with sticky red sauce
in the shape of an iris.
She looks at me
and I have the tiny yet full body of a starling
the size of a whole heart
beating rapidly. I am bones
blue as Heaven in her tinfoil carton.
I read somewhere once
that this planet can only withstand
five more atomic bombs
and this, surely, must be one of them.
with
your chest by Remi Graves
A playful collection despite the big themes it addresses
From it…
children know what they like
no one can tell me otherwise.
I used to babysit Christophe
who loved the stretch of
washing up gloves, the leather
straps of his school shoes,
buckles and belts,
would tell us all about it at dinner
because he didn’t know
yet, who he could trust
how shame turns
all flavour to dust
The
Islands of Chile by David Nash
Each poem is titled after an Chilean Island – a concept album that
can give you a bit of a twitch – but in this case totally
unjustified – there is no conceit, nothing contrived here – it is
a delight
Isla
Grande de Chiloé
/ Ireland
42º40’36
S, 73º59’36
W / 53º25 N,
8º0
S
We’re
the same.
Your
hands have known more work and your teeth are whiter
but
we’re the same.
Only
in the rear-view mirror does your form shift,
like
mine does.
When
your rivers are cold they do not know they are cold.
My
rivers, too, are simple things.
You
have made compromises to beauty; I am less beautiful than I could be.
We’re
the same.
You
can turn the rain and you have a heartbeat that you take for granted.
So
do I.
You
are not quite your name.
We’re
are the same.
What
have you cast off in translation? What have you won?
What
have I?
You
are surrounded. You are greener and less green. Your scent is yours
alone.
We’re
are the same.
Look,
how your waters end up in mine.
Amphibian
by Georgie Henley
Inhibition
it
smells of lonely in here
and
my cleaned-yesterday pussy
which
is a word I used to loathe
before
the ambit of my brain became
22
sanctioned walls
slipping
between both hands
larger
than a heart and discerning,
eel-slick,
probably greyish
but
I prefer to think it pink
and
cool like fridge-frosted peaches -
the
other night I had
a
sudden urge
to
spill pomegranate seeds
in
my public hair
and
let them hide a while
winking
jewels in high resolution
itch
scratched
scalp
glowing
Based
on a True Story by Thomas
Stewart
There
is great honesty in Thomas’ poems…
In
look me in the eye when we’re fucking
the line “… I didn’t know whether to pull myself out | of your
asshole or fuck you until you came to get it over with...” really
resonates, times when it is easier to pretend.
You’ve
Got Mail has a softer feel, the
way familiar films can be a comfort blanket – realising that I had
a handful of DVDs that I would watch repeatedly, and yet I have
probably not watched in the last decade – but I can still quote
Steel Magnolias, Where Eagles Dare, Brokeback Mountain, North West
Frontier (for all the political incorrectness), and The Beiderbecke
Affair as if I watched them yesterday – they have transitioned into
a place where I can get move of the comfort without actually even
watching them…
And
then I felt very ‘seen’ when I got to…
spending
hours on Grindr, wasting time
I had plans today to
enjoy
the simple tasks of
taking
the bins out,
hoovering,
doing laundry,
reading
by the fire, smoking
in
the rain, writing
under
candlelight.
I was supposed to
fall in love
with this city, a
ship amongst
crowds, plucking
flowers
instead
