sometimes, I sit in the shower, knees in a crease; the water, relentless, raining on the nape of my neck, finding its way around my body like a first lover – the droplets cling to eyelashes like a prayer clings to Christ – tears Insanity /ɪnˈsanəti/ Noun. the state of being seriously mentally ill; madness staring at white tiles, the light, face evasive, a bluebottle against glass I leave the shower, wandering to a bed like Joaquin Phoenix in the climax of You Were Never Really Here (2017) About the author:
H. K. G. Lowery is a writer & musician from Gateshead. He gained a Distinction in his Masters in Creative Writing from Graduate College, Lancaster University. The department of English Literature & Creative Writing awarded him with the 2021/2022 Portfolio Prize for his work which received the highest mark in the faculty. Lowery has recently been published in Poetry Salzburg, Errant and The Ofi Press.
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Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, because it does not scoff & scream, gaslight & gossip, & insult, critique Liszt’s Liebestraume 3, because it does not disappear & cheat with sons & say immature, insecure, controlling Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor, because it does not daydream about those it once loved Schubert’s Vier Impromptus, because distance doesn’t kill us Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, because it makes me feel safe About the author:
H. K. G. Lowery is a writer & musician from Gateshead. He gained a Distinction in his Masters in Creative Writing from Graduate College, Lancaster University. The department of English Literature & Creative Writing awarded him with the 2021/2022 Portfolio Prize for his work which received the highest mark in the faculty. Lowery has recently been published in Poetry Salzburg, Errant and The Ofi Press. I turned the page, and now I see how a song, story or rhyme can illuminate For a single line from poetry, can inspire a brighter day of brighter health, both physical and mental For a sketch, a day or a collage or three will be my credential To be left without a hobby and art would be a day I would truly hate So I will find my place in the books they illustrate If I build others up, then I will reach my potential I turned the page, and now I see how a song, story or rhyme can illuminate For a single line from poetry, can inspire a brighter day of brighter health, both physical and mental It became a part of who I am, and so I will create I find quiet courage, as I change a landscape with each stencil I speak as freely now as the lines they drew with every artist's pencil Because it is the words from poems that I want to celebrate I turned the page, and now I see how a song, story or rhyme can illuminate For a single line from poetry, can inspire a brighter day of brighter health, both physical and mental. 'Bright' was previously published on a local, positive news magazine The Happy Hood.
We start each day anew, and now we see how a song, story or rhyme calls towards the silver in the soaring trees with their early gleaming shadows. It is a single line from poetry whispering in the coolness of winter air when it is time for warmth and the days ahead to brighten. Creating a sketch or collage shaping silvery stars with pencils to fill the empty winter skies, we paint with silver, grey and blue for a new and captivating crisp horizon. Perhaps we will decorate our coats with fluorescent colours and glittering threads of silver that will illuminate our snow-covered clothes. And we will find our place in the books we chose. Favourite folklore creatures add their silvery song to our new poems, and their fables and traditions are still and not made to alarm or frighten. We start each day anew, and now we see how a song, story or rhyme calls towards the silver in the soaring trees with their early gleaming shadows. It is a single line from poetry whispering in the coolness of winter air when it is time for warmth and the days ahead to brighten. It became a part of winter as we dream of the distant memories of summer meadows. There is courage found in the stories that we find will enlighten. We speak and sing as freely as the changing winter outdoor scenes with songs and carols to invite in. It is time to celebrate the winter sun and share its wisdom in paper stories we can write in. We start each day anew, and now we see how a song, story or rhyme calls towards the silver in the soaring trees with their early gleaming shadows. It is a single line from poetry whispering in the coolness of winter air when it is time for warmth and the days ahead to brighten. 'Winter Silver' was previously published on the children's poetry website, The Dirigible Balloon.
I Know Of A Boy i know a boy. raised & bred in a land defined as "abject infertility" by his dead father's friends & frenemies. yeah. i know of a boy whose hind skin always kisses the earthen-chilled floor every night. inside his father's, now his, paradise– the hut. tilted. half covered with dried palm fronds. the other half lost to the ferocious & unconcerned wind. he barely sleeps in the long & crawling nights. yet wakes to the first cock-a-doodle-doo of his old mama's cock & set out for the farm. shrithing all alone like a lost black bird navigating the cloudy sky. when nature calls & illness strikes him with a big cudgel. who is he to lie back without mustering the minuscule strength in his wretched body & set out for the farm again? lest he be screwed by ulcer-causing hunger till he draws his last breath. like it did his father. Au revoir As A Metaphor For Forever sitting all alone. on this old squeaking bench. outside my father's house. with my back leaning with comfort on this chilly wall. & eyes fixing the moonlit sky. romancing the warm company of the beautiful stars. the thoughts of the last time we met meander through my mind. we sat on this same old bench. not minding the blistering cold. or the chirping of hundreds of crickets. or the hooting owls in a stone throw from us. you submitted your head on my shoulder & i had my hands curled around you like a blanket. my booming MP3 player playing ed sheeran's Perfect. you gazed at me from the corner of your eyes. your alluring eyeballs radiated into mine. & said "i will always be here for you…" & climaxed it with "au revoir" & a kiss planted on my forehead. hands of time ticking at light's speed. it's been years within a twinkle of eyes. yet still no words. i scourge & scourge every nook & cranny. alas "au revoir" is a metaphor for "forever". so much for "i will always be here for you". wish i could run into the speed force & go back to that night to stop you from finish articulating the statement. or cease the ticking hands of time. it's same sky i look at now. yet the stars are out of place without you around. About the author:
Olayioye Keji Akintunde, studies Pharm.D at the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His writing explores the self,contradiction and contemporary realities. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Inertia Teens, Spillwords, Nnọkọ Stories and elsewhere. Besides Pharmacy & Poetry, he's intrigued by good & soul-reaching music. He's nicknamed Catechol. He tweets @Catechol01, & is @Catechol1 on IG. |
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