Patchwork Candle – Cat Caie

 

I used up all my candles, collected all the leftover wax.

My big Orange, Cinnamon and Clove came to an end.

Rusty flames, heat in my cheeks, an envelope-seal kissed shut.

 

I bought you a ring with my words engraved in.

Liquid gold melted wax over your silver band in a jar,

I poured in your favourite colour to cover the question up.

 

Now, I wait.

 

You’ll burn the wick whilst I pace alongside the festive scent.

Autumnal colours make it smaller everyday.

Maybe you’ll find the answer at the bottom of the jar.

 

I wonder how long it will take.

I wonder how long the candle will last.

I wonder, what will be your answer to the question I asked?

 

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Cat Caie is a poet and writer who is currently based in Liverpool. Studying Creative Writing and Popular Music, she cites inspirations such as Orla Gartland, Halsey and Philip Pullman.

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April 18, 2021April 18, 2021 by foxglovejournal Categories: Poetry, UncategorizedTags: answer, candle, Cat Caie, cinnamon, clove, colours, creative, creativity, heat, kiss, Liverpool, orange, poem, Poetry, question, ring, scent, senses, UK, waiting, words, writing 1 Comment

Time travelling in a coffee shop – Demi Lloyd

 

Sarah smells like caravan

holidays when I was small

I reach for a chip and

I’m stranded,

trapped in a blur of playing

Go Fish with Dad

 

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Demi Lloyd recently gained a Masters degree in Creative Writing at Nottingham Trent University. She is part of a poetry group based in Nottingham called GOBS and is working towards her contribution to their spoken word showcase in March. In her spare time you can find her reading, listening to podcasts or thinking about cats.

February 1, 2021 by foxglovejournal Categories: Poetry, UncategorizedTags: blur, caravan, chips, coffee, creative, creativity, Demi Lloyd, family, food, game, holidays, memory, Nottingham, past, poem, Poetry, scent, senses, shop, stranded, time, UK, writing Leave a comment

Images and Fragrances – James G. Piatt

 

It was near the morning hour, when visions

arose in my mind: I saw a brick sidewalk

leading me to an old house where precious

memories transported me inside the house

and I smelled the sweet fragrances of

peaches and honey wafting into the air.

 

 

James is the author of four collections of poetry, Solace Between the Lines (2019), Light (2016), Ancient Rhythms (2014), and The Silent Pond (2012). He has had over 1,440 poems (four of which were nominated for Pushcart and Best of Web Awards), five novels, eight essays, and thirty-five short stories published. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU.

May 4, 2020May 4, 2020 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: air, creative, creativity, elements, food, fragrance, honey, hour, house, James G. Piatt, memories, mind, moment, morning, nature, peaches, poem, Poetry, scent, senses, sweet, visions, writing Leave a comment

She stops and says – Claire Sexton

 

She stops and says ‘Hang on, that’s

my Mum calling’,

and suddenly I am back there again;

colour unbecoming; milkshake;

antiseptic.

 

And in the rafters of the old

gymnasium, black birds fritter away

time with backwards and forwards

motions; skipping games; dodgeball

flits amongst falling glass.

 

And wild garlic lies pungent in the

forest; recognisable despite its heady

transformations.

 

 

Claire Sexton is a Welsh poet and writer now living in Berkshire where she works as a school librarian. She has previously been published in Allegro Poetry Magazine, Amaryllis, Amethyst Review, Foxglove Journal, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Light: a Journal of Photography and Poetry, and Peeking Cat Poetry. Claire often writes about mental health, in particular her own experiences with depression and anxiety.

July 15, 2019 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: Berkshire, birds, Claire Sexton, creative, creativity, family, forest, games, garlic, glass, memory, motion, nature, past, poem, Poetry, return, scent, senses, time, Wales, wild, writing Leave a comment

A Wave in the Ocean – Peter Fullagar

 

Just a wave in the ocean,

a drop in the sea,

the tiniest speck

that is you and me.

The wave that may carry us

to lands far beyond,

the gentlest lull

of the sweet-scented song.

The whirlpools that capture

and stay in the round,

refuse to release

to treasures unfound.

The stormiest water

that must be obeyed

withstanding this

and serenity so craved.

The soft soothing current

brings out the best

leads me to shore

and lays me to rest.

 

 

Peter Fullagar is an editor and writer living in Berkshire. His first book, Virginia Woolf in Richmond, was published in November 2018 to coincide with a Virginia Woolf Statue campaign and his short story, The Walking Stick, is included in an anthology called Tempest. He also writes ELT materials and has some exam books published. He tweets at @peterjfullagar. Find more at www.peterjfullagar.co.uk.

May 5, 2019May 5, 2019 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: creative, creativity, elements, lull, nature, ocean, Peter Fullagar, poem, Poetry, rest, scent, sea, senses, serenity, shore, song, sound, storm, treasure, UK, water, wave, writing Leave a comment

Cologne – David Armand

 

It was a mirrored, wooden cabinet

hung at about eye-level so he could see

himself before he left for work

in the morning, when it was still dark out

and everyone else was asleep and warm.

 

And he kept nothing but cologne in there,

bottles and bottles of it: Brut, Old Spice,

Pierre Cardin, English Leather, Coty Musk,

Stetson, Aqua Velva, Afta, Skin Bracer,

Preferred Stock, Aspen. Cheap stuff

 

his kids gave him, or maybe he bought it

himself at the drugstore for under ten bucks

so he’d have some variety in the morning,

some choice in how he presented himself

to a world where he didn’t have many choices,

 

a world that was hard on him, and one he’d leave

far too soon: just after a meager Christmas one year

at only forty-two years old, all those cheap bottles

collecting dust now, their contents slowly evaporating

until the day comes when there’ll just be nothing left of him.

 

 

David Armand is Writer-in-Residence at Southeastern Louisiana University, where he also serves as associate editor for Louisiana Literature. In 2010, he won the George Garrett Fiction Prize for his first novel, The Pugilist’s Wife, which was published by Texas Review Press. His second novel, Harlow, was published by Texas Review Press in 2013. In 2015, David’s third novel, The Gorge, was published by Southeast Missouri State University Press, and his poetry chapbook, The Deep Woods, was published by Blue Horse Press. David’s memoir, My Mother’s House, was published in March 2016 by Texas Review Press.

January 30, 2018January 30, 2018 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: bottles, choice, cologne, creative, creativity, David Armand, death, dust, ending, family, humanity, LA, loss, morning, poem, Poetry, scent, time, US, variety, work, world, writing Leave a comment

Synesthesia Among Wildflowers – Don Thompson

 

Everyone knows how a cheap scent sounds,

its odor loud and clear,

astringent—a sting in your nostrils

that makes you taste dissonant brass.

 

But lupins in a field whisper

subtle fragrances, inaudible

unless you’re willing to stand still

on a windless afternoon

 

and listen: a blue fugue

in which you can recognize motifs

of raw denim, antique lilac silk,

or dusty amaranthine velvet.

*

 

Don Thompson was born and raised in Bakersfield, California, and has lived in the southern San Joaquin Valley for most of his life. He has been publishing poetry since the early sixties, including a dozen books and chapbooks. For more information and links to his publications, visit his website San Joaquin Ink (don-e-thompson.com).

September 26, 2017September 26, 2017 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: CA, colour, creative, creativity, Don Thompson, fabrics, flora, fragrance, lupins, motifs, nature, odor, poem, Poetry, scent, senses, sound, sting, synesthesia, US, velvet, whisper, writing Leave a comment

dark magic – AM Roselli

 

is it dark magic that occurs

behind a wet curtain

a blanket of steam       spray cascades down your flesh

is it darker magic still

when your eyes close

 

slight-of-hand for the senses

touch vibrates the clean sudsy silk

no floral bouquet or inattentive perfumes

no phony scent of any kind

unadulterated mist

like morning dreams

pouring over you

awash in clear mercy

 

when the frothing in your head

caresses the patterned tiles

and floats away in shimmering bubbles

 

the spray cuts off

the curtain draws back

the steam dissipates

 

in one breathless moment

the spell ceases

like a heartbeat

evaporates out the window

 

along with your fantasies

 

AM Roselli is a writer and artist who lives in the Hudson Valley, New York. She has a collection of illustrated poetry, Love of the Monster, published by Door in the Floor Publishing, 2016, available on Amazon. She previously served as an art director at Prentice Hall Educational Publishing. Since 2014 she has been sharing her writing and artwork on her blog, anntogether.com.

July 21, 2017July 21, 2017 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: AM Roselli, body, bubbles, caress, creative, creativity, dreams, elements, fantasy, magic, mercy, mist, NY, poem, Poetry, scent, senses, spell, spray, steam, US, water, writing 3 Comments