This poem really is Sexton at her best, her most introspective and darkest, and hearing the poem in her own voice lends a whole new level of meaning to this, arguably one of the finest poems of the middle of the 20th Century.

If you’ve not paid much attention to Sexton’s work before, then we’d like you to take this opportunity to take some time out of your day (it’s Sunday – what do you have to do? ) and discover her works for yourself.

- A little note now: We are setting up a newsletter and mailing list at the moment. Click the link to sign up, and stay in touch with us: http://eepurl.com/A1nQb

We have a newsletter coming soon, which will have news of our latest publications, exclusive newsletter-only content, and offers for subscribers.

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Have a good day, whatever it is you are doing.

I am greeted by mould and nicotine yellow
A rum scented slur from my father
The first sigh of the evening
Alone-sweet-home

He is a watermark on the sleeve of my mother
Like razor blade cuff links
She struck a mutiny at the age of 57
Penalty?
Exile.

So I have given up
With him and his bottomless cup
Illuminated by the sympathetic glow of
4 a.m T.V
Decrepit Dutch courage
And falsehoods in sepia
Do not mix well in the stomach
So he spews it over any patient stranger.
Time-waster-wine-taster
With a bad habit of swallowing.

Still this box of fools keeps afloat
Our hollowness promotes buoyancy
But my shoes are filling up
And my whiskey drinks itself

I’m under now,
And the oil is dropped
The sun is little more than a flicker anyway.
When you’re ten fathoms deep.

© Chris Flame 2013

*****

Hello all, sorry about the lack of poetry this week, we have been having a lot of meetings, promoting our new anthology, and general things that come with being a publishing company. Never fear though, we have plenty of new featured writers coming up for your pleasure

Onto todays poem – Chris manages to evoke perfectly the dark, claustrophobic effects of living with abuse. Metaphorical, with accomplished, original word-play, this piece is evocative and tragic, drawing the reader into this dark, horrible world of alcoholism, loneliness and despair. There is very little hope here, no light at the end of the tunnel for this desperate situation that the subject finds themselves in. A piece that unfortunately many can identify with, but will find solace in these words and realise that they are not alone.

Leave your thoughts below on this piece by Chris Flame, and follow us for more like this. Also, we have a newsletter coming out soon  – subscribe here for exclusive content, news and newsletter-only offers: http://eepurl.com/A1nQb

The infernal smith,
with fire bright and anvil cold,
within his wretched forge did sculpt my bones.
The sun has not the heat to match
such raging flames.
By passions passed on his hammer is led
and the red-hot iron of my will must
submit.

© Ryan Burley 2013

*****

A piece which brings up images of life, memory, guilt and the passing of time, this is a masterfully done, told in strong metaphor and complex layers of meaning. A short piece, which belies the depth of the symbolism and construction, “The Eternal Judge” is both striking and assured. Worth more than one read to truly appreciate the depth of effort and craft that has been poured into every word by Ryan Burley.

Leave your thoughts below on this piece.

For this weekends poem, we thought a bit of Whitman wouldn’t go amiss. Obviously, we couldn’t find  a reading by Whitman himself, but this reading by Tom O’Bedlam will more than suffice, we feel. Tom has a channel on Youtube of hundreds of poetry readings, all of which are perfectly done in his own unique style.

Arguably one of the most culturally significant poems of the 19th Century (it can be argued that without Whitman, the legacy of American poetry would have been very different), and one everyone should be familiar with if they know anything about poetry at all, we felt that Whitmans masterpiece (abut the death of Lincoln) should have some space here on the site.

Sit back, click on the link, and enjoy this brilliant reading of one of the finest poems to have ever been penned. Tom’s Youtube channel is below, check it out and immerse yourself in his readings.

http://www.youtube.com/user/SpokenVerse

I am a broken girl
staring at her muted reflection
on the dark hardwood floors,
backlight fading out my legs,
looking no farther
than where she will walk next.

No need to see the stench
of your rotting corpse,
his either.
My kitchen stove
doesn’t know you’re cold,
my sink never felt
anything for you
but my refrigerator
would like to spit in your eye.

I house a million pictures frames
that will gradually dismember you
as the carefully cleaned
glass shrinks
and the larger pieces
are needed
to reflect surreal smiles
and classic nudes at play.
It’s a misunderstood
innocence really,
a teasing fawn
with expectations
of being gutted
in someone’s garage.
The door opens
the knife sinks in
and I have someone else
to step over before
I can make my dinner.

© Pamela Larson 2013

*****

There’s something brutal and honest about this piece by Pamela Larson. Speaking of pent-up anger, frustration and domestic strife (certainly not bliss), this is a poem which tells the tale of the downtrodden, the unsatisfied, unfulfilled and resentful. Employing dark, murderous, almost sociopathic imagery throughout, Pamela captures that feeling of resentment and anger that countless people in unhappy relationships or family situations (whether faced with physical or mental abuse, or just plain indifference and a fizzing out of love that once was). A powerful, dark piece with no small amount of cynical dark humour, this is a more than worthy addition to our archives.

Leave your thoughts below on this piece, and follow us for more new poetry and literature. Check us out on Facebook too – there’s a lot going on with us at the moment.

Now onto eBooks: It is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Western-Haiku-A-Collection-ebook/dp/B00D6SGP9S

And, for those of you who don’t have a Kindle, we also have an  .epub version uploaded to Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/322608

Available at the price of £3.08 through Amazon, and $4.58 (which works out to around £2.99) on Smashwords.

Pick up a copy for your ereader (or if you prefer print, the link to Lulu is below), and help support new writers and our sponsored charity Scope (50% of sales proceeds for this title go to help them).

http://www.lulu.com/shop/r-j-davey-and-e-hulme/western-haiku-a-collection/paperback/product-21052785.html

Whilst you’re there, pick up a copy of our other fantastic publications, and help us to support charity and new writers.

I lost my way and found beauty,
The path was overgrown,
And the sun hardly broke
Through the haze.

I was, alone,
Mellow minded at midday,
I just went along,
Following the path that others trod before,
And upon the trees,
Upon the plants all around
Rested dew, from the night before,
All glossy and deep,
Breathless and sleepy deep.

The oak was semi naked,
And along the same thread
I saw the Russian Princess,
She was stretching and still young,
Her face was cast in beauty
And my soul shivered with belonging;
Her dress glinted in the white light
Of the hazy humid day.

In reflection her silence was her purity,
The day was heavy and moist,
My mind was wandering and lost,
It resounded in dark caves,
But she remained calm, as ever.
Green and red,
Along with the dead,
She submerged the day,
And her dress glinted in
The white light of the hazy day.

© Paul D Hegginson, 2013

*****

Now for a piece by one of our regular writers. Paul  tells this poetic tale with a degree of sagacity, and no small measure of wonder. There’s a certain Orphic sensibility to this piece, and certainly Paul finds his muse well, who seemingly captivates the reader like a Nymph, or a Siren. Equating beauty and the feminine power to charm and captivate with a mythological reverence for nature and her attendant mysteries, this poem is in the best tradition of the metaphysical and romantic poets of the 17th-19th centuries. A fine piece.

Leave your thoughts below on this poem, and follow us for more new poetry and news of our publications and various charitable projects (links in the pages above). Paul also has a book “Thinkulations” out through us, so if you like this poem and his style, pick up a copy from our store on Lulu.com today.

Release day! Follow the link below to purchase a copy of “Western Haiku: A Collection”, our latest anthology of new poetry by the best new poets around for £4.99 + P&P. Ebooks will be available soon on Amazon and other sites.

Use code FAST5 to get 5% off your order, and help support our chosen charity Scope (50% of proceeds from the sale of the anthology go to them).

Also, as part of our charitable ethos, all publications effectively help charity, as 10% of our overall profit at the end of the year will be donated to charity. Aren’t we nice?

Go grab a copy, and pick up a copy of our other publications whilst you’re at it

Direct Link to Publication – HERE.

Also, follow the links in our publications page to purchase from our full catalogue.

Have a great day, WordPress. We’re off to plug the hell out of this one.

It would be weird,
Of course,
To stare so intently
While being so close;

But I think it runs deeper than that.

With eyes closed,
It’s pure dark;
You guide yourself
With what you feel,
With what you touch.

You melt into them,
And in that moment
They cease to be,

And this world
Ceases to be,
And everything but them
Ceases to be

If only for a moment.

We close our eyes
To walk in summer mist,
To take in the smell
Of fresh-baked bread,

To take in the smell
Of a lover’s perfume
And to bite their lower lip

Ever
So
Slightly.

The best things in life
Are not seen
With eyes open.

So we close them,

And we kiss
In the blue dark,
With summer in the air
And heaven on our lips.

© E.R. Pulgar 2013

****

Our second featured poem by ER Pulgar (the first being “La Lune ” – Link), this piece asks a question which delves into our very souls as people. Why do we close our eyes to kiss? What worlds are we imaging behind our eyelids? Anyone who has ever felt the pull of love and closeness can muse upon this piece and come to their own conclusions, we think. Tender, philosophical and inquiring in it’s nature, this piece is another fine addition to our archives by a new writer we are happy to present the words of to you.

Leave your thoughts below, and share this poem by ER Pulgar with the world.