A fist lost – Gareth Culshaw

 

The pitch was always poor in under 14s 

footie. At the start of the season the council

would send men out. Paint the lines,

mow the turf, align the goalposts.

 

I always played better when he came

standing there with his accent.

My first goal scored, smiles all round.

Jogging back, raised fist to you

 

yours pumped in the air. We got on 

back then before the stubbornness set, 

distance in years between us showed.

 

That break in the relationship a hole 

in my memory, will never be filled.

 

 

Gareth lives in Wales. He has his first collection out now by FutureCycle called The Miner. He hopes one day to achieve something special with the pen.

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October 11, 2018 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: accent, break, childhood, creative, creativity, distance, football, Gareth Culshaw, goal, memory, past, pitch, poem, Poetry, relationship, season, smiles, sport, stubbornness, Wales, writing, years, youth Leave a comment

Traveller – Ali Jones

 

He arrived, a long washed sailor,

over the rolling sea, making home

because he likes what he sees;

the waist nipped flouncers in sky

high heels, he brings them sunshine,

 

in the grey northern streets, freestyles

beats, wears flip flops with no thought

for others. He wants to fit in though,

with winkle-pickers and pool cue crowds,

not with grim suited pen-pushers.

 

Under his feet, colours splatter the pavement,

smiles spread silently across his face,

he hears old ladies whisper, scandalised,

then turn silently away;

he wears the world well.

 

 

Ali Jones is a teacher and mother of three. Her work has appeared in Fire, Poetry Rivals, Strange Poetry, Ink Sweat and Tears, Snakeskin Poetry, Atrium, Mother’s Milk Books, Breastfeeding Matters, Breastfeeding Today and Green Parent magazine. She has also written for The Guardian.

February 11, 2018February 11, 2018 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: Ali Jones, arrival, colours, creative, creativity, elements, face, feet, home, nature, poem, Poetry, sailor, sea, silence, sky, smiles, streets, sunshine, travel, whisper, world, writing Leave a comment

Man in the house – Claire Sexton

 

Man in the house and all normal routines stop. We are asked to watch man-programmes, and eat man-sized food and drink.

Twittering and lounging is curtailed, and threadbare togs abandoned wholesale. Legs are shaved, and a new self consciousness prevails.

Once again I am trapped in between male and female spaces. Weighing in and holding back. Gallantry and equal pay. The devil or the nephilim.

Aware of my delinquency, I take to my bed. Not wanting to unbalance either. Not wanting to uncover the gaping hole beneath the smiles and flowers.

Terrified of offending the ying or the yang, I socialise with the under fives. Sing theme tunes and nursery rhymes. Become intimately acquainted with the Twirlywoos.

The truth is I like neither steak nor rabbit food. I am neither cocksure or human snail. I form my own opinions and calculate my own share of the bill.

I prefer my toast brown, but not burnt.

 

 

Claire Sexton is a Welsh writer and librarian living in London. She has previously been published in Peeking Cat Poetry, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Hedgerow, Foxglove Journal, Amaryllis, and Light – a journal of photography & poetry.

November 26, 2017 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: bed, children, Claire Sexton, creative, creativity, devil, drink, flowers, food, gender, house, humanity, opinions, poem, Poetry, share, smiles, spaces, trapped, truth, tunes, Wales, writing 1 Comment