In the second of three pieces, our regular workshop member Fran Edwards recalls a memory inspired by watching 'Doing Our Bit', a film from 1935 about voluntary action groups in Cleveland. I have my walking boots on. The ground is muddy but I am standing on flagstones outside the cottage door. The sun is just … Continue reading I Have My Walking Boots On by Fran Edwards
I was standing by the fridge when she said "I'm pregnant" I celebrated with wine, fizzy like the bubbles of joy in my mind I couldn't believe that at last I was going to be a grandmother I smiled a lot I worried too I waited for scans and enough weeks passing to feel it … Continue reading I Was Standing By The Fridge by Fran Edwards
Please welcome our second of three guest editors, Degna Stone! Degna Stone is a published poet who has twice received New Writing North awards, and a founder editor at acclaimed poetry journal Butcher’s Dog. She works as an Enabler for the Slate Consortia project, developing routes into creative arts and theatre for BMER artists. She … Continue reading Guest editor call out for submissions!
Good morning on this sunny Bank Holiday Monday! I hope everyone is having a beautiful weekend. I'm delighted to tell you that today's blog features not one, but three poems from our regular group member, Francis Arnett. Francis started work as a teacher in secondary education and retired after 40 years, with many happy memories and … Continue reading Three Poems by Francis Annett
For an audio version of this poem, please click here. Women of Steel We are sisters who clank through the streets on rustless feet and chain-linked arms the deep pull of ore in our loins – calls of ancestors deep in the rocks of yolk and plum and rust. I polish her toes ‘til they … Continue reading Women of Steel by Rachel Bower
W10 Those thick-skinned women who brought out suds and sponges in buckets, rested them in doorways, kneeling in their slippers, they’d scrub and scrub. It was all about keeping the modest porch dirt-free daily and looking well. The old dears of W10, so much pride. The ones who told tales of real life … Continue reading W10 by Laurie Bolger
Playing with Fire In childhood, summer fires would sweep the mineral line, bringing the local brigade bell-clanging down our road. Whooping in their wake a comet tail of kids. In those days of steam a stoker’s fag-end ash, a stray glead, could easily kindle the straw-dry grass. With snapped Elder branch, or a borrowed … Continue reading Two poems by Tom Moody