Monthly Archives: January 2012
Ginger Nut
This piece is heartfelt, with just a tinge of sadness to it. One to evoke memories of times gone by, through the medium of objects that have sensory familiarity.
Show some love in the comments below.
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How I’ve loved you Ginger Nut,
So sturdy and so solid,
You never crumbled in my tea
Or left those dregs like porridge
A smell and taste so distinctive,
You remind me of times gone.
Granny Nel always gave me one -
Your cracks matched those on her tongue
Lazy Sundays with mum in bed
Your crumbs staining our nighties,
We scattered some with her ashes
Along with her fags and lighters
Ink still drying on the papers,
Happiness forgotten,
Fumbling in my bag for a hanky
My hand met you at the bottom
How I’ve loved you Ginger Nut,
Like a rising, auburn sun
Those wafers and thins don’t cut it,
But look at the size of my bum
© Emma Coleman 2012
(Image © Stephcookie - Used under Creative Commons licence)
Like this:
The Boring Chameleon
Like a ventriloquist’s dummy
Your thoughts are channelled through me
I only feel what you project
I only see what you reflect
When you’re gone I am nothing
When you’re near, I’m still not me, rather…
…whoever it is you want me to be
Like a classic movie
I make believe in every scene
A mystery, a true romance
A comedy, a song and dance
Whatever I think you need to see
In reality you’ve never met me
I’m as vibrant as the unlit screen
© Rob Hernandez 2012
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A nice piece by Rob here, full of mystery and sadness.
Show some love in the comments below.
Like this:
Moonlight, Blue-Eyed Girl, Forgive me & Table Scraps (a selection of short pieces by Daniel Williams)
We decided to publish all four Daniel sent in to us, as they all seem to complement each other, and are best read together, in order.
Realism, tinged with a hint of regret, they contain many hidden depths of meaning that the reader can relate to.
Show some love in the comments below.
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Moonlight
and sometimes
when it is late at night
(and I am alone)
I remember,
I remember…
Blue-Eyed Girl
Blue-eyed girl asks
if I want more wine
‘No,’ I say,
‘you have it’.
She finishes the bottle.
I smile.
Forgive me
forgive me,
if what I do
doesn’t make much sense,
I am
more me
in words
than I am
in flesh
Table Scraps
Scraps
from your table
taste good
to a starved man
but
he’d never think to ask
for a proper meal
© Daniel Williams 2012
Like this:
Writers wanted for anthology
Good evening/morning/afternoon.
We’re looking for writers to submit their best work on the subject of “The City” for an anthology we’ll be putting out on Kindle in just under two months time. Interpretation of the subject is open, and any style of poetry is welcome. This will be a free download, readily available to anyone on the internet. So, if you want to get your name out there a little bit, we welcome any style, 40 lines maximum, on the subject of “The City”. Let your imagination run wild, and show us what you’ve got.
Send all submissions to dagdapublishing@hotmail.co.uk
And, while you’re there, why not come inside and make yourself comfortable in the virtual armchair that we have over here. Have a read of our featured writers, and show ‘em some love. We have cookies, you know.
Dagda Publishing.
Like this:
For Amy
She made me feel like poetry wasn’t enough.
When we listened to Jeff Buckley cry ‘Hallelujah,’
In a dusty disused single apartment room, sitting still before the laptop laid on a worn and carved old desk,
Facing full length windows struck with fat drops of the April rain,
While gray clouds darkened the red and gold leaves hanging from black branches,
Ignoring the moving world
I sat and she leaned on me,
Winding her arms around my chest and the music soared and her heart pounded to the electric beat,
Pounded for me.
I knew only that I wanted more than anything
To write something, to do anything, that would make her heart pound like that.
I can still feel it, hot on my warm neck in the dust against the dusky rain.
I smell her breath and feel her hair,
Sliding down the front of my bare chest,
And I feel her lips resting softly against my eyes
And hear her breathe in the dark mornings
When I couldn’t sleep for fear I would lose my waking dreams.
She begged me to be real and I tried but we died and she cried.
I could not stop dreaming, could not live in the world of concrete reality –
How could I, when she, reality spun from a fervid, half-believed and worshipped dream, waited for me?
She was like tea in October,
When death is in the air and children are in the streets and you don’t care,
Because what you hold in your hands is hot and strong and sweet and makes you feel alive,
And you don’t want to let it go.
It’s hazy now, but they still come to me,
The sensual memories and pangs of moments passed,
Scenes from around the world and the promises we made.
But I wasn’t enough to give her what she gave me:
Yellowed visions of autumn days and winter nights,
Early morning sighs of contentment that haunt me even today, blackmailing me into writing this,
Even if it will only ever reach the eyes of the half that is yearning to pull away, like a mutt tied to a stake;
Even if it fails to make her heart beat hard and fast for me, for me.
© Billy Ji, 2012
Like this:
Velvet Darkness
Through the air, upon the mists,
As night coils round tree trunks
Like an ancient serpent from a dusty tome,
And a thousand stars point the way,
Like mystic twinkling hands
In random fire-side blinking,
I follow the trail of dreams
Left behind by Seers and Sages,
They wandered near,
And traveled far…
Like this:
Sakura
There is nothing like watching the
Sakura fall onto the shallow cobbles –
Or the bamboo grass turning white.
As those cherry blossoms are trampled
By the horses tread and cart:
The ever-falling rain will begin –
And the tears are carried.
Dark and grey the clouds will turn -
And the cicadas will no longer churn.
The start of a new day.
Pink Sakura obscure the floors –
Amongst the healthy bamboo grass.
© John Ashleigh 2011-2012
Like this:
Peach Blossom
Should I fall to sleep,
never once, to see your face again.
I would haunt myself.
For knowing, that these words,
were never said
If, all, of my kisses
did seem but frivolous
and I laughed, at love
in the face, of the sun
Please, know this, my love.
I now cry in the darkness
of my solitude
For desolation is no
company for treasures lost
and out of keep.
A darkened cloud
whips an injurious tempest,
its depths has the powers
to take my
mind, to places I’d
rather leave abandoned
The fragrance of you
still intoxicates my senses.
A ripened summer
peach, sent to tempt
and please.
Such soft evocative flesh
tasted sweet upon my lips.
The nectar of the gods
did bequeath to you, such,
beauty in profusion.
Always in my thoughts – unspoken
I pledged my heart to you.
You could not have known
I would have held back the tide
and drowned for you,
let my love, be washed
upon the beach.
I will search for you, nail
my dreams, to shooting stars.
When I smell the peach blossom
I know that you are near – but where?
Some day, who knows when?
I will find you.
And will say out loud I love you…
© Poppy Scarlett 2011-2012
Like this:
Looking for writers
Shoutout time. Looking for writers for this site to be featured. If you breathe poetry we would like to chemically analyse your exhaled breath to see what you expel.
Send your best stuff to dagdapublishing@hotmail.co.uk and follow this blog for timely updates on what’s being produced in our corner of the literary world.
Slowly Does It
I can be cynical
I’ll be purlion
I’ll challenge authority
I enjoy reading your poetry
I don’t know how it’s done
I love compassion communication
I love folk to laugh
Then one day
Dog-gone where is that life gone
Bird song.
© Matthew Roses 2011-2012
