The Poetry 2012 Collection

THIS COLLECTION NOW CLOSED. CONTRIBUTORS PLEASE SEE COMMENT No. 9. MANY THANKS FOR HIGH QUALITY OF SUBMISSIONS:

The Hummingbird

Zips into the barn
toward the open window
but the window is closed.

I am near this
inaudible thud
and rush to lift
the body
from the sill,
to revive what I am
thinking is stunned.

The red neck feathers are alive
that is all, despite the light
still wanting to play.

I do not see
the hummingbird's heart
in my open palm,
do not feel
this
seed of a bird
bury itself inside me.

c- Peter Newton


Honey and Lemon

Someone once here before. You?
Who knows!

In from the rain, free but finished.

The room a mess;
old messages a week old still awaiting a response,
dust accumulated on the bed -
dunking my snout like a cat in a cup of tea -
My favourite kind (?), honey and lemon.

It assists me in the preparation of my unsure beginnings:
my family, work, the whole show,
and even with nothing.

They excavate me in order to try and help,
and I, in return, show them my ingratitude.
I prefer to pack my bags and leave.
Solitude, thoughts, paranoia;
the whole traffic for an identity.

And I perhaps another, or still uniquely the same?

I observe the mug placed on the chest.
For two days now it has been there.
I don't want to change too much.

c- Sara Ghia

Brisk Man from Jaipur

Two men tall,

one from here

and one from there,

in raincoats

at a bus stop,

pace and stare.

One of them

is soaked in tea,

brisk man from Jaipur

who semaphores

an anthracitic glare.

To barter for a smile

an alien's obeisance

he, no fawn,

refuses.

The other man,

white cane and dog

doesn't seem to care.

c- Donal Mahoney

Crepuscule (for Alessia)

Fabulous bestiaries

arise out of the dusk,

their serpentine shapes

plume and splurge

like octopus ink

tarnishing the great furnace

of illumination,

as if generated by a million campfires

behind the citadel

that is eventual evening.

I watch it all from the domestic cube

where I live

and which I share with an Aztec Madonna.

The strange machinations

of our upended intimacy,

like the shifting light,

make us see our world ever anew.

Together we dream like the ancients.

c- Peter O'Neill

Untitled

Christmas done, back home again amid the rain that never stops and snuggle deep and read and sleep and eat and then repeat, repeat

c- Bob Harmer

Sunday Morning

The morning pauses.

She has forgotten to turn back the clock.

Her shoes, her lipstick,

the folded bill for the collection plate,

all lose their urgency.

She presses a button on the coffee machine.

The sun is in the kitchen,

glowing in the ruby seeds

of a split pomegranate on the counter,

catching in the feathers of a small blue bird

preening by the window.

For this hour only the broken fruit,

the blue bird, the smell of coffee

quell the clamant question attendant on the day.

The morning settles like dust from a blue wing,

like a blue feather falling to the floor,

the bells, peremptory in their own error,

are too early for worship,

too late for everything else.

c- Mairi Graham

Unlike Rhubarb

Think feline, a supine cat

reclining, sunning itself

when a fly unexpectedly

comes along

to add interest to the mixture;

the muse is something

you wish you had

as a matter of course,

on tap,

but like rhubarb

it cannot be forced;

it's a kind

of heady elixir

a rush, a grab

that spreads colour

to a monochrome picture

to bring the mind alive;

a kind of seismic stab

that unfurls an iridescent

world.

c- David Pike

Guidelines

1. Submitted poems should be of 20 lines maximum and written in English.

2. The poems should have some connection, however loose, to the idea of 'an awakening'.

3. Accepted poems will be printed here against the left margin (for technical reasons).

4. There is no limit to the number of submissions per poet but I am seeking to find 20 different poets if I can.

5. Poems should be sent by email to gwilataondotat and contain the words Poetry 2012 in the subject line.

6. When all the material has been gathered I will present it as a 12-page printable e-book in the same format that you can see here at Poetry 2010

7. There is no financial payment. I will award a few books in a random draw. A list of the chosen titles will appear here:

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides (signed by author)

Peeling Oranges & Lemons to Dartmoor by Wendy Webb (signed by author and numbered 49/50)

Genteel Messages by Gwilym Williams (signed by author)

8. Copyright remains with the authors.

9. Previously published poems (where the author holds copyright) may be submitted.

10. I'm looking forward to receiving and reading your poems.