Coming out shortly with Five Leaves Publications in
January 2008, my edition of
The Sword Without, reporting from
My poetry is can be purchased from me, direct. It is also on sale in
- Books Etc U2 Mall N. London
- Waterstone's Hampstead
- Pons at The English Bookshop, 4-6 rue du Colombier ( by the Pilgrims roundabout)
- Saintes, at La Perfide Albion (street running from the Arc de Triomphe to the Abbaye aux Dames...excellent English groceries) .
Published December 2004: Tears of Honey and Gold, with Five Leaves Publications, Nottingham
Tears of Honey and Gold is the fruit of the author's long-standing love affair with Spain. For sample poems, see below.
To order or for further information:
Tel: 0115 9603597
£5 +10% postage
Overseas orders by credit card to Central Books 0208 986 4854
Or through firstname.lastname@example.org
7 euros + postage (for Europe 1 € 90 First Class; 1€ 40 Second Class)
10 $ + postage for US. US cheques acceptable.
Guadalupe was a pale postcard.
The asphalt montage
Cafés, cash dispensers
and the grocer:
"They've purified the olives
in our oil."
I looked in at the hotel. No-one
by the pool.
No wonder you didn't
originally published in Never Bury Poetry
In the bar,
Aznar, all in blue,
from his giant screen in the corner. Nobody listens.
The tourist office sells a brochure on
Intolerance in the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella.
Outside, the hills breathe fenugreek and history.
Far below, the river rumbles. Mopeds imitate
angry insects. On the ramparts, an Italian calls "Salute!"
to his sneezing wife. For a second, I hear "Salaam."
A vulture circles over terracotta walls and pale
round Arab tiles. Rounded tail. Thin wing feathers.
Poised, totally indifferent to
the overhead roar of fighter planes.
He's seen it all before: Romans, Visigoths,
Arab, Berber, Aragonese. Republican. Nationalist.
And now Aznar, mouthing his proud policy in
Sudden Maraschinos published by Redbeck Press.
A 5 perfect-bound, 60 pages.
Price £ 6.95, 10 euro
order through your usual bookseller
Bradford BD9 4HH
or contact me: email@example.com (local postage rate for
See below for extracts….
Sudden Maraschinos brings together poetry inspired by several European countries, in particular Sweden and Germany, as well as Kolodno Verses, a sequence written in an isolated village on the Polish-Belarus border where I went in search of my roots. Here is one of those poems, alongside the garden of the cottage where I stayed. Photo "August" © Tomek Wisniewski firstname.lastname@example.org
Tomek also took the cover photo on the book.
Here the outer world comes
in other people's cars,
smugglers bearing cheap vodka and cigarettes
down narrow lanes from Belarus,
smart young men with red number plates
the day's brief solace.
Swiat pojawia sie tutaj
W samochodach z czrwonymi rejestracjami
Waskimi drogami od Bialorusi
Przemytnicy taniej wodki I papierosow
Przywoza kilka krotkich chwil ukojenia
Polish translation © by Jarek Mosiejewski JarekM@optushome.com.au
Sudden Maraschinos was shortlisted in the Paris Review Poetry Collection Prize in 2001 and has been twice shortlisted in the Redbeck poetry collection prize as well. Kolodno Verses was commended in the Scintilla Long Poem section 2002
I am thinking about the lady in red,
the one right opposite, and wondering
why she interests me – tartan-armoured skirt,
barbed shoes, bullet-proof scarlet,
fisted blond hair, jet-vicious designer bag.
I am wondering too why my day must fill
with other people's conversations,
her chat on her un- yet umbilical phone,
eyes blank to us sitting here on the edge
of departure, on the brink of a question.
Even so she impresses me. In my padded coat and
comfortable shoes, I know I am inferior. On board,
she picks a tabloid oozing murder and ripe flesh.
Relishes each page of pumped-up breasts and
plastic-covered corpses. But then I watch her turn
her nose from blue rare beef, holding out each
slice to sniff the blood dripping gently
on green beans and plastic tray, before
discarding it. Strange, when I offer her my
Svenska Dagbladet, well-done, she refuses.
Paris Charles de Gaulle - Göteborg
originally published in The Reater
and the twenty or so restored churches are gleaming
with Unesco gold
when the old Russian woman in her broken mules, old striped socks
gripping her swollen legs, is rushing stool under arm
to her draughty perch in the Orthodox Church archway
and up by the MacDonald's smart new drive-in
someone has thrown water over the night's blood.
A gang of joyful children pull
a sleeping man's shoes off his feet
and drop them with arm-raised cheer in their plastic booty bag.
originally published in Penniless Press