fiona sinclair

Biography

A balance disorder that rendered me house bound has paradoxically freed me up to focus on my poetry. Consequently,I wrote my first sequence about life caring for an alcoholic mother. This was accepted for publication by Koo Press, Scotland. The Saturday evening that Doug, the publisher, rang me ranks as one of the happiest days of my life. Since then I have worked solidly to produce the work which formed my next pamphlet .A game of hide and seek. This will be published in May by Indigo Dreams Press. This collection is far more optimistic than the previous 'Dirty Laundry' I aim to improve all the time . Recently I have begun to read my work at poetry meetings . I have found this terrifying but I aim to improve my performance. This is all very ironic since I am a teacher but as it was pointed out to me I am laying myself bare when I read my own work rather than delivering a poem by Larkin say to a class. My subject matter does focus on my somewhat colourful past but I now write on strange events or incidents I observe.

Samples

When a sex symbol takes to sensible shoes Suddenly across the store, through a middle aged bottle glass blur, I spot blonde hair familiar as a logo, but hesitate unable to make out that fantasy body drawn by an adolescent boy on his exercise book. Close up, these photographs from the ‘Misfits’ are like meeting an old friend after a debilitating illness. Trademark eyeliner has become heavy shutters closing on the empty windows of a house whose occupant has left. Her body still forms a perfect 8 but is not gift wrapped in gold lame instead she is a hillbilly’s wife in white cotton Sunday dress posing in a Steinbeck farm yard. Looking down the barrel of the camera, lips no longer part in the throes of an orgasmic O, but are forced into a localised smile. The confection of a single 1950s picture draws my eyes like wasps to a baker’s window, leaving me craving other heyday poses, addictive as sugar. Paying my last respects to the snapshots from her final film, I notice, more shocking than being shared around like a joint by the Kennedy boys’ club, her comfortable shoes. Fear of Letter Boxes She listens all morning for the letter box’s warning that causes her pen to skid across a page. Careers downstairs scanning the door mat, gingerly pokes a pile of junk mail where buff envelopes often lurk like adders under compost. Opens as if defusing a bomb. Hospital appointments are welcome as negative test results. Shreds Reader’s Digest’s practical joke. Down grading her fear to code orange at a drift of white letters, knows even these are not always innocent as they appear. Sometimes, the friendly face of familiar handwriting or an invitation surprising as a modest lottery win. Still no ‘all clear’ by 12 o’ clock, she peeps from curtains, catching the post man passing her gate, exhales as if missed out of a house to house search. Sundays, strikes and snow, she is a school kid whose bully has been excluded for a few days.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by fiona sinclair

Dancing on a motor bike (23/12/2023)

untitled (29/03/2014)

Switching the light back on (20/03/2014)

A month's trial (01/02/2014)

Days (25/04/2013)

Siren (17/02/2013)

Bed Snatcher (05/02/2013)

Clock (17/01/2013)

Stood Up (23/12/2012)

Stainless Sister (08/11/2012)

Read more entries by fiona sinclair…

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/fionasinclair

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