I’m very pleased to have three poems in the charity poetry collection Further Within Darkness and Light, compiled by Walsall poet and author Paul B Morris. Sales of the book go to benefit the charity Mind and you can get a copy via the link below
I’ve had a very interesting chat with Paul Morris about my forthcoming book “Creative Waste,” and more. Read all about it at the link below.
I know a bloke who boasted he’d thrown away his TV set,
Then that he’d burnt his TV licence with no feelings of regret.
Curious I sat him down over a pint and said “listen,
Without a TV you really don’t know what you’re missing.
There’s so-called celebrities dining on testicles and bums,
Tax-dodging millionaires begging you to donate to charity funds.
Plus interfering chefs telling you what to eat that’s good for you,
Then adverts for pop stars flogging you their expensive shoes.
You could watch a talent show where skill doesn’t count if you’ve had a sad life,
Or see twenty women scramble to be a cheesy millionaires wife.
Witness the UK’s yearly humiliation in Eurovision,
Hear Piers Morgan spouting his alleged wisdom.
I even saw Keith Chegwin in the nude on a game show,
Mind you I’m still having hypnotherapy for that you know.”
When I’d finished I thought I given bigging up TV my best try,
My mate smirked, then looked me straight in the eye.
He said, “you talk a good talk, but you know what you should do.”
So I got out my lighter and my TV licence too.
When your pen feels like a splinter in your hand,
When your malicious inner demons won’t be quiet.
When your body feels like a carcass left out for the dogs,
When your convinced you’ll soon be caught out as a liar.
There is no better time to write.
Write whatever your demons are slyly whispering,
Write no matter how badly it hurts about how you feel.
Write to exorcise all your fears and insecurities,
Write it all down and create poetry for you that’s real.
UPDATE – THE SUBMISSION WINDOW IS NOW CLOSED
Diverse Verse 3 the poetry book from Walsall with an international reach is ready to accept submissions.
Here’s how you can get involved and see your poem in print
All you need to do to be involved is to email me a poem to the email address below and it will be considered for the book based on the following rules. Please note entry is free.
- All poems must be the authors own work, please don’t submit something that isn’t yours.
- Poems are welcome from anyone, anywhere in the world.
- Please submit no more than one poem.
- A submitted poem must be in arial font in a format free word document. If you are unable to do such then just paste your poem into the body of your email.
- Poems on any subject and theme are welcome, however sexually explicit poetry and poems with extreme bad language will not be considered.
- Poems should be no longer than 400 words approx.
- Previously published poems can be submitted as long as the writer holds the copyright.
- When submitting poems please include your full name for inclusion in the book’s contents, an alias is acceptable.
- Email your poems to Diverseverse@aol.co.uk
- The book will be published via Lulu the online publishers.
- Closing date for submissions is 31st December 2017.
- Anyone who is in the book will be notified after submissions close.
- Poems that do not conform to the guidelines will be rejected automatically.
- The copyright of any poem selected remains with the author.
I hope to have the book out in 2018 by the spring at the latest, money raised from sales of the collection will go to Cancer research UK.
I found a poem at work.
It was tied up in red tape,
Under dusty stacks of paper.
I pried the words loose with my staple extractor,
Then stuck them round my monitor on bright post it notes.
I found a poem on the beach,
Hiding under some jetsam and seaweed.
As I kicked its slimy home,
The words tried in vain to scuttle to safety,
While I eagerly chased them brandishing my net.
I found a poem in a church,
Trapped among the dusty tomes of a tired sermon.
I resurrected the words from their stuffy grave,
Sending them into the light
With my blessing.
I found a poem in the last place I expected.
Lurking in my head among my memories and fears.
I tried to lure the words out,
But they flatly turned me down,
Saying they wanted to stay where they felt safe.
This isn’t a poem
It’s the fallout from an explosion
in a dictionary.
Mixed with the shredded pages of
a thesaurus, glued back together
This isn’t a poem.
It’s words plucked from
a scrambled radio station or
phrases pulled from a
scratched record played
at the wrong speed.
Which then begs the question….
If this isn’t a poem
why do I expect anyone to read it?
And why did I even bother to write it?
It’s almost as if someone flicked a switch
Turning summer to autumn overnight.
Leaves dance on tree branches
Seemingly impatient to be free.
Clouds advance across the pale sky
Going from grey to black in a heartbeat.
Trainers are stored away, boots dusted off,
Umbrellas are welcomed back like old friends
Returning from a brief holiday.
Down by the lake’s shore,
Where its waters calmly lap.
Nature holds its court,
Among the green muddy banks.
Ducks waddle and dip their toes,
Trees bend and reach.
Geese strike a yoga pose,
Among the willows and beech.
Swans both big and small
Across the lake elegantly glide.
While among the rushes tall,
Nests with cygnets hide.
The lake is a place to pause,
To embrace nature’s calming effect.
A green kingdom with no flaws,
For all to stop, enjoy and reflect.