https://thecharlescausleytrust.wordpress.com/2015/04/11/opportunities-at-the-charles-causley-trust/~~
New post on The Charles Causley Trust   
 Opportunities at The Charles Causley Trust
by thecharlescausleytrust 
The Charles Causley Trust is looking for ...

DEVELOPMENT OFFICER
WRITERS IN RESIDENCE
Development Officer

The Charles Causley Trust is seeking to appoint a Development Office...

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http://www.thepoke.co.uk/2013/12/20/a-christmas-poem-rewritten-by-corporate-killjoys/

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http://www.footballpoets.org/p.asp?Id=32040

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Could we ever learn to read their runes?

To test the texture of those shy, reluctant smiles

and guess their distance to a kiss?

They send smoke signals,

talk of pow-wow

sharpen fork-tongue

go to wigwam . . .

(Hope cavalry come soon.)

We hear hieroglyphs, hexadecimal,

Vulcan and Venusian,

live long and prosper language

- our mother tongue falling deaf

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thin ice

Out there you never felt the whistling cold,

the scalpel probe of blue steel, seeking out

your crimson core. Scribing arcs across the

ice, arabesque and pirouette, sharp turns

where crystals flew like frozen sparks. Your

skates left traces, silvered tracks; we knew

the cracks, like sonar bleeps, would never

catch you. Oblivious, y...

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http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-19959565

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-12368624

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http://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=youtube%20anthony%20emmerson%20genesis&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&ved=0CCEQtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNO68mCtN6hQ&ei=WuZtULfQEeuz0QX97IHoCQ&usg=AFQjCNE0tQdbjAasWPSU2fowFSYsKOYp5Q

Please add your comment on YouTube - positive or otherwise!

 Regards & thanks,

 A.E.

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 myspace

slowly …
slowly …
surfacing
from sleep
buoyed up
and up
on bubble-dreams
stains of dingy dawn
drip
through the black
and stream
through fissures in the blind

a thoughtful mind
has gagged the Sunday clock
its hands
and solemn face
today suffice
to portion out
our spans of life
slice
by slice
by
tick-tock
slice

 
You lie close
...

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Hi Everyone,

I haven't posted anything here for some time now; not through lack of interest - but simply time and inspiration. However, I am hoping that some of you might feel willing to help me with something that's very new - well, it is to me anyway. Those of you with whom I've conversed over these last few years will know that I have regularly been an advocate of freeing poetry from the...

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the process

this is

a message

from me

to you.

it is conveyed

via

these

small black

symbols

formed by the dark

pixels

on the screen

the patterns

they make

are the

shapes of my

thoughts

light waves

from them

are  being

collected by

r...

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buried treasure

how could you forget so soon

that moon-faced milky bar smile?

sure, it’s been a while

and now there’s only you

to keep him safe.

a face every mother could love.

he was good to you.

those day trips

with the boys in blue

the view of mill towns

long-lens

front page

never-to-be-forgotten days.

one day he...

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genesis

Here we are now

You

and

I

beneath our

broad and

bounteous

sky

our

firmament

of

roaring

stars

on this

fragile

globe

of ours

this realm of fire

and dust

and space

this

elemental

human

race

as far as we

can know

or see

there’s

no one

here

but you

and m...

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Bay 3

He would come to her mostly at night. Sloping down the long corridors

of white-tiled darkness. The easy smile, soft words.

A touching of hands. Close and quiet; fixed

in their yellow cone beneath the anglepoise.

Some nights her eyes were seastorms. A fury of wind

on black waves. A craze of hot, white lightning

against the pale wash of turquois...

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Just a reminder that voting closes this Friday, so if you haven't already voted . . .

The entries were:

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Hi Everyone,

I just thought I'd post this purely for the picture, which I stopped to take on my travels today. I'm sure there must be other place names with a poetic connection - if you know of any why not add them?

Here's the link to the origins of the name:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryme_Intrinseca

Incidentally it's not far from East Coker - of T S Eliot fame:

http://ww...

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WOW! Great response everyone!

We have (by my count, and please give me a shout if I've missed anyone) twenty-one - yes 21 entries!  Entries and links are as follows:

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Hi All,

And a very happy and poetic New Year to all the team and subscribers to WOL!

Thursday January 5th is the closing date for entries to the WOL Comp, after which voting for your favourite entries will open.

There are currently 16 entries, so if you want to swell the numbers please post your entries a.s.a.p. See here for rules:

http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry....

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Nine entries so far folks! I forgot to say that if anyone wants to submit more than one entry – feel free. The closing date is January 5th 2012, after which I’ll open the voting. I have purposely refrained from commenting on entries until after the closing date.

Still two weeks to get your entry posted. For entry stipulations please see here:

http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blo...

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OK folks! There has been some support for a competition on the blog; with this in mind I’m happy to set one. Some have suggested that there should be a “theme” as in previous competitions – as is my whim I’m going to ignore that and set something I personally think is far more difficult!

What do we, as poets, write about? After a very unscientific trawl through last month’s blogs and ...

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We don’t seem to have had a competition on the WOL blog of late. In the past these have inspired and produced some excellent poetry and good fun. I’m not sure why these have come to a halt, but in the absence of anyone else I would be happy to provide a prize and admin/collation of entries – if anyone is interested?

I don’t wish to step on anyone’s toes, so if I’m jumping the gun or s...

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Just for a bit of fun. Add your own caption to this blog entry - or post another pic . . .

 Maybe one for the ladies . . .

and for the gents . . .

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freedom of speech

(the "Murdoch" edit - featuring Rebekah Brooks - respect . . .) 

.....for the billionth time

go get a job or a career!

get it right from the start!

If you get it wrong/tenuous

or off note from the inception,

(it happens to us all)

don't try and steal from

poets off the cuff commen...

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Girl in a summer dress

The park is tinder dry and brittle-bone,

wraith clouds wither in the Wedgewood blue

oblivious you lie there all alone

while all the world stops turning  – just for you.

Wandering pages of some other place

in leopard shade of genuflecting trees,

the lake strews shimmering diamonds on your face,

your wheat-field hair a...

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(I)

This morning Samantha is building a bonfire

Down on the waste ground in rubbish and weeds

Ferrying armloads of boxes and bin-bags,

Burning a life that she no longer needs.

Out of the cardboard seep velvets and spangles,

Hairpieces, handcuffs, impractical shoes,

Skimpy silk underwear, ropes and brass bangles -

The tools of a trade that ...

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“A passionate man.” That’s what they said,

somewhere between the sherry and the teas.

The greenest lawn, the finest veg, the longest stemmed

sweet peas – always a winner at the local show.

How could they know? The man who always wore a tie

and tipped his hat to everyone he met. Who every Sunday read,

with measured gravitas, his given l...

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smoke signals

The coffee pot’s down

to grounds and dregs,

the cognac bottle’s

now the worse for wear.

He counts each crossing of the legs

each slow blink,

approving laugh;

tests the warmth of every smile,

notes each surreptitious lick of lip;

decodes the semaphore

of each flick of hair.

She feels the hours grow smaller,

sees the pa...

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retirement

You found them.

White lipped in the bath

like strawberries and cream

floating, bloated

at the edges of reservoirs

swaying, plum faced,

a rope’s length away

broken winged

below the bridges

curled like foetuses

at the sharp end of a needle

the blank-eyed children

who’d never learned to laugh

the crimson smear

below...

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http://www.bowwowshop.org.uk/page15.htm

Regards,

A.E.

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Visiting Neil

Hello old friend. I’m sorry that it’s been a while.

I can’t pretend that this cold place is easy on the mind.

But nonetheless you’re always there, somewhere,

underneath and in the darkness; thinking through philosophies,

searching out those sparks of why and wherefore

to eternity.

Who me? I’ve done OK, The usual, you know - job, house,...

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. . . of varts and tickers

The Right Reverend Spooner (of wuddled murds fame)

had a nocturnal penchant for girls on the game.

His favourite muse was lady named Roxy

-  (a voluptuous vixen, both feisty and foxy!)

One night after Vespers – his loins amply stirred,

he set out to “perch” with this exotic bird.

But beneath the red light there was no sign of Rox –

...

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A Yukon Tale . . .

Miles from God’s own county, three Yorkshire men were Yukon bound,

To sift through silt and clinging mud for riches from the Klondike ground.

With frozen feet and aching backs through ice and snow and sleet and rain,

determined to get rich - or die, they panned the Yukon grain by grain.

And grain by grain they built a hoard, of gold dust stored in ca...

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social

They’ve pulled down the village club;

all that’s left’s a stone and plaque to war they said was great.

Starter homes now stand between the one-time shop and pub;

the first grey tentacles perhaps, of yet another sink estate.

In the shadow of the quarry face the limekiln chimney’s long returned to dust

and railway veins to all the world are gone to rot and rus...

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http://www.napowrimo.net/

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PAAAARRRTTTTYYYY!

“Ey up owd lad, tha does look glum!” Peter said one day, (he’d spent a while up north near Leeds, that’s why he spoke that way.)

“What’s to do?  Tha’s sittin there wi a face like milkman’s hoss. I’ve nivver seed thee look that way, whatever ails thee boss?” 

His boss looked up, all ashen faced, a pallor on his skin, and whispered “Pete, I’ve had enough, It’s time I jack...

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Beyond the Equinox

The land sleeps,

furrowed, cold and still.

Each field edge mourns

in widow’s weeds.

The flocks keep silence

on the hill,

while nature weeps

tomorrow’s seeds.

Penitent

in golden cloak,

the woodland

whispers overhead

and through the mist,

like incense smoke,

sheds slow confetti

for her dead.

...

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Edge

Gone is the mind where love and hope once played,
She feels the urge to paint a world with blood.
She watches moonlight dance along the blade.

She dreams a world of red in every shade,
Would banish all the rainbow if she could.
Gone is the mind where love and hope once played.

All trust now shredded, reason torn and frayed,
A hollow corpse where once a woman stood;
She watches moonlight dance along th...

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"John"

What worlds turn behind your almond eyes, that ready smile,

that childish innocence that lingers long when you are gone?

I feel your warmth through chubby hands and stubby fingers

of a child. You will not make old bones in this cold life

of sticks and stones and superstitious fears. Some careless god

cut short your years; played blackjack with your chromosomes

in a game that ...

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a curse - for the mildly irritating

For those who’ve meddled, ired or slighted,

For those who’ve peeved or pinched or blighted

Or fibbed or fooled or faked - or worse

Upon them ever be this curse:

May your earnest endeavours all end in farce.

May your nostrils migrate to just south of your a**e.

May all your teabags get stuck in the spout.

May your luck and your toilet roll always ru...

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undercurrents

I only glimpse it now, so far away, but bright and clear.

The rapture of  a fading world - another place, some other year.

Those nights of shattered moonlight strewn on marbled seas,

where frangipani whispers were caresses on the breeze.

From the shadow of the palms I watched you dance

the tideline, shed your silks, and with one glance

you robbed my soul and beckoned wit...

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In those final quickening hours

we sat, and weighed the snare-drum rhythm

of our failing hearts, sucking warmth from

close-pinched cigarettes and old memories.

Our sergeant paced, checked his watch for lies,

and ignored the muffled sobs disguised as coughs

-  his whistle hanging heavy as a prayer.

Seconds fell like dominoes, and in the dark,

kisses fell on photographs an...

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you won’t be good for me
but I don’t care.
I know the connotations
of the colour of your hair.
red screams danger,
warning, stay away.
maybe I should try
a little danger fix
today.

you won’t be nice to me
and I don’t mind.
nice girls normally don’t
I often find.
and who needs nice
in preference
to rollercoaster thrills?
when nice can suffocate
and boredom slowly kills.

you won’t be...

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a well-spent ninepence

was all it took

to leave a headscarfed mother

in some chattering queue

for luncheon meat

or lardy cake

and step inside the transport

taking us

to Planet Zog

Or Dead Man’s canyon

via Keystone or some cartoon city

where,

fortified with Mojos

and Mambo juice

in strange shaped cartons

we’d jostle for the back r...

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she sits

she knits

the needles click

as strand by strand

in cracked crabbed hands

each stitch

might haul them

back to land

her days, her nights are one, the same -

a gift of darkness borne by grief

to wounds already salted well.

lips taste each quarter

of the wind; she hears the tides

advance, retreat -

as if in echoes from

some  ancient stranded shell.

she feels t...

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Each Saturday the high street is a canyon of temptation

As the public stare at the proffered wares with awe and approbation.

You can bare your soles at the cobbler’s shop but the chemist’s best for rumours

And dozens queue for a loaf or two when they sniff the baker’s bloomers.

The fishmonger has mussels, the bookshop man’s quite...

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moving on

you wear your bones

on the outside now.

the smile that once danced

at all our parties,

now a recluse.

folded arms protect the place

where I once died

a past eternity of joys

you spit formalities begrudgingly,

take every chance to turn your face -

still managing to leave

a shadow of

contempt.

i knot my tongue,

stem the flow of words;

worthless now, disarmed

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Not much rain that month they say - May of nineteen-forty-six;

the ache of war, still in the bones, where Cregagh boys kicked tries

down at Malone and dodged the sixes from the next-door cricket pitch. 

Wednesday, the twenty-second, an ordinary Belfast day,

but some alignment of the spheres, some sorcery, conspiracy of Gods,

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surprisingly enough

each new day finds you

sandwiched here

between Burger king

and vacant lot -

thrice times woe man with

your brimstone smile.

slow dog-paddling

against the apathetic tide

that scours

these caves of Arndale.

your hand a flush

of trump card pamphlets,

useless

in this game

of patience;

black aces of repentance

neatly sidestepped

as the ...

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The Gift 

“You have his hands” they say.

Blunt, broad, and strong;

the rounded nails and heavy palms, his grip.

Some memory, stored within each line,

each fingertip, each scar, from half a life away.

Old-leather hard with work and age;

weather-carved and worn with every s...

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(I)

This morning Samantha is building a bonfire

Down on the waste ground in rubbish and weeds

Ferrying armloads of boxes and bin-bags

Burning a life that she no longer needs.

Out of the cardboard seep velvets and spangles,

Hairpieces, handcuffs, impractical shoes,

Skimpy silk underwear, ropes and brass bangles -

The tools of a trade that she’ll no longer use.

Crimson red li...

Read and leave comments (7)