you, God on hardsoil, insatiable Icarus…
Sunday night, you pick up an iron in a cold room.
Where The Dead
Cloud-shadows darken the windows. / In an upstairs room I watch the city glide by.
I am the boat with a stomach full of rain,/ and I am faceless even when the moon/ peers in…
The clock repeats its parable as Maggie talks./ The seconds tick and fall, tick and fall,/ like waves lapping without a sound.
I add to this the dark bloom of a life// discovered, pursed and fat, beside the slope./ How I wish I’d cut it from the branch
Is what there is between a funeral and The Awful Truth
The bit where the dog….? Where Cary Grant….?
The Wild Thing Is Always Near
…There is a lit fuse
in your daughter’s mouth,
her brownish body a bomb…
A Medicine of Moments
I am the perverted picture viewer
tuned in and turned on
to the aesthetic beauty of visuals
smoke/ rises/ in the south//thick plumes/ float
“…The wax extends across the afternoon;/ every follicle exhumed and exiled;/ each inch of skin exfoliated. Soon,/ she will be ready: brows plucked; nails filed…”
They often took people from these shores,/ pariahs of the law or kirk. Sent them down/ into the holds of ships with flint as ballast,/ mined locally as plentiful useless weight….
Poe in Love
1 A man jammed fistfuls of earth into his mouth. And why not when nations sell/ weapons to their enemies?
Becoming – A Triptych in Reds
I scoured the thrift shops/ Looking for the perfect sport coat/ Maybe checkered black and white/ Or jazzy plaid of multi-colors…
The naked women lie back & repose
Hello I Am Cambodia
The Olive Branch
I send you a postcard, you send me a postcard,/ From some exotic place./ But there are no more exotic places. No more remaining exotic places….
Writer? Right… Er?
The finest poem I have ever read goes like this:
I love you
You are a
This brilliant poem was written by my wife following one of the small flare-ups that real life relationships are made of. Structurally it satisfies me. Ten lines seems like a nice length and it is half the number of words which is pleasingly symmetrical. Each line is about the same length which gives it balance. It is not quite Haiku, not quite shopping list, not really anything, but nonetheless magnificent.
When it comes to the after-life
I’ll settle for the Calmac terminal
on a spit of Hebridean rock
after the ferry has sailed.
A lobster boat tugs at its rope
and beyond the pier a gannet rises
from the low swell into the cold cradling waves
and quick air…
The award winning poet and writer talks exclusively to NLP about the his craft and the inspiration he finds in the natural world. The interview includes three of Powici’s poems. His latest collection Somehow This Earth is published by Diehard Books.
The child holds the strings,
long lickedysplit lines that jerk
and loosen as he turns his wrists.
The wind is made from resin and horsehair,
the buffet of canvas swoops and soars
in the quiver of catgut…
NLP is delighted to publish a small collection of new poetry from award winning poet Alice Willington Continue reading…
POE-NERO: Leopoldo María, Gothic tyrant
The enemy is Man
and I am
the shepherd of shit
only Lord of nothing
King of the wind
the page on which the dog barks
Andrew Faraday Giles introduces us to the extraordinary world of Spanish poet Leopoldo María Panero, luminescent figure of La Movida Madrileña, inmate of multiple asylums, writer of remarkable poetry. Continue reading…
You broke the picture of the lovers when
You turned away last night. Heave of mattress –
Glass and slashed photograph through the gap
Between bed and wall….
Zoe Green explores the complications and conflicts of love, betrayal and loss in her powerful new collection, Letters Unsent.Continue reading…