Madness Letters

 

Dream Catcher

 

Elisabeth was bored so I made

a dream catcher out of her old knickers.

Never heard a scream sound like sickness.

It was time to give up smoking dope anyway

and since she left it keeps the flies

from dancing on my eyelashes.

 

‘When the hurly-burly’s done…’

 

Elisabeth calls me, ‘I’m bored

of being a stuck-up bitch!’

I cough. From the swing in my garden

the clouds over the allotment

look like three witches fighting

over who gets to sleep with the sun.

I kick the phone into the pond.

Tell the cat on the fence to kill something. 

 

Evolution

 

Elisabeth is long gone, she doesn’t call

any more. I wonder if she still brushes

her teeth after sex. Once, we tried to alleviate

her boredom by getting freaky in a tree

but I kept dropping the bananas.

 

Giddy up

 

Elisabeth is on my mind each time

I feel boredom on my shoulders

like giving a fat child a piggy-back.

I write her name in ketchup on

the fridge, then lick it off.

Doctor’s appointment Tuesday.

 

Lady Dangerous

 

Elisabeth called! ‘Did I leave my diary

under your bed?’ I stuttered apologies

like a dog choking on a plastic bag;

the pages I didn’t burn I taped to my

mirror, all that melancholy bitterness

and hatred for men, especially male poets.

I wonder if she has ever chipped away

the Hughes from the Plath stone…

 

Last Orders

 

Elisabeth stood in the doorway

dripping with rain – I was so bored

I invited her in. We ate chicken.

We danced the funky chicken with

bellies full of chicken. We both kinda

missed the way we frighten each other.

 

Almost There

 

Elisabeth turns to me after the sweat

has dried and our pillows have tangled,

‘What happened to that nasty dream catcher?’

I pinch her cute little nose, pull a funny face,

keep her distracted. When she’s in the bathroom

I dismantle the shrine in my wardrobe.

 

Nightmares

 

Elisabeth doesn’t get bored any more.

I don’t get bored any more; we don’t

get bored together – it sounds like

laughter before it reaches high pitch,

a gasp, a wheeze, a phlegmy gargle…

At night her bra moves across the floor,

whimpers to go out for a wee.

 

Pretending to be Happy

 

Elisabeth says I’m so crazy she’ll never

get bored of me; I am constantly creating

weird situations. She wants to have crazy

babies with me. When she pops to the shop

for cider and crackers, I fall to my knees

and pray to the light-bulb. Sometimes

craziness is a choice, then it takes over

and changes colour, constantly, like a British

summer sky or a pair of white boxer shorts.

Today I am grey with exhaustion.

 

Doomed

 

The tablets worked. And the cannabis

is well out of my system – I can’t tell her

I’m better now, she’d get bored of me.

 

If she catches me watching a documentary

on rural architecture, I leap into the air

and declare war on the curtains.

 

If she catches me reading a book

on the industrial revolution, I jump up

screaming, ‘Grapefruit promises, it’s dirty

time! Quick, grab the spade!’

 

Beyond Good and Evil

 

It gets easier, you just let go. Let go,

listen to the singing colours. Make her happy.

Loneliness is worse, no one to grin and make me soup.

It’s quite comfortable, this kaleidoscope…

 

I smile, lick my moustache and close my eyes

like Nietzsche playing the piano with sticky fingers.


* Bobby Parker lives in Kidderminster (England) has poems published in Agenda, Obsessed With Pipework, Fire, Iota, Rain Dog, Cauldron, The Coffee House, Curlew, Krax, Weyfarers, Purple Patch and Urban District Writers. He also now publishes the Last Chance Before Bath-time series of chapbooks.

Parting

I made chilli, in a pot two arms wide
with sweet peppers, tomatoes red as a beating heart,
glorious curls of onion.

There were brothers, father, boyfriend of course
to carry the wardrobe we picked
when she was just handle-tall,
the boxes of belongings gathered over years
she didn’t need me to do that

so I made chilli.
They came home later
ate it all in big hungry mouthfuls.

More things to move tomorrow

perhaps I’ll bake a cake.


* Jan Harris writes poetry, short stories and flash fiction.  She has recently had work published on Flashquake and Nth Position. 

October was yet another good month for Ink Sweat & Tears visitor traffic, hitting a new high of 10,600 readers (defined as unique addresses served) and a total of 43,000 page views. Once again, many thanks.

The annual Purple Patch Small Press Poetry Bests have now been announced for 2009 by Purple Patch magazine's publisher (and Ink Sweat & Tears contributor) Geoff Stevens


PURPLE PATCH SMALL PRESS BEST OF 2009 LISTS (2008 places in brackets)

Best UK Small Press Magazines of the Year
Poetry Scotland no.60 (6)
Sarasvati no.3
Carillon 24
The Journal #26 (12=)
Global Tapestry #31 (10=)
Poetic Licence 29 (2)
Handshake 75
Envoi 151
9= First Time 56
9= Reach 131 (12=)
11=Ambit 195
11= Southlight 4
13=Quarry no.7
13=Quarry no.8
13=Carillon 23
16=Mslexia 38
16=The Coffee House no.10
Poetry Cornwall 25
19=The Journal 24, 25; The Ugly Tree 20
19=Carillon 22

UK Best Small Press Poets of the Year
1. K.V.Skene
2. Henry Blake
3. Norman Bissett
4. Joanna Ezekiel
5. Bobby Parker
6. David Eyre
7. Paul Tanner
8. Michael Newman
9= Terry Quinn (12=) 9= Neil Leadbeater(12=)
11=Gordon Scapens (12=) 11= Steve Sneyd
14= Ken Champion, Kate Edwards, Robin Ford,
Peter Faulkner, Peter Johnson, C.Despardes
Gerald Zipper, Pat Jourdan and Graham Fulton

Best Overseas Small Press Poets of the Year (new category)
A.D. Winans
Kyle Lewis
Lyn Lifshin
Jude Dillon
5 Dave Newman
6 B.Z. Niditch
7= Robert M.Zoschke 7= T. Kilgore Sprake
9= Tyson Schroeder 9= Ruth Moon Kemper
9= Kirkor N.Der Hohannesian

Best Individual Collections of the Year
The Wrong Jarrow by Tom Kelly (Smokestack Books)
For The Living Dead by Eric Greinke (Free Books, Lowell, USA)
Poems For The Disenchanted by Henry Blake (Henry Blake)
Verses From The Crematorium by Henry Blake (Henry Blake)
Piercing The Darkness by Norman Bissett (Poetry Monthly Press)
Singular by Eleanor Dent (Indigo Dreams Publishing)
7= Listening For Light by Ken Head (Poetry Monthly Press)
7= Third Wish Wasted by Roddy Lumsden (Bloodaxe)
7= Dreamer In A Cold Climate by Tom Kelly (Red Squirrel Press)
10 Salvador Dali Paints Juliet by Wendy Webb(Indigo Dreams Press)
11 A Tapestry of Absent Sitters by Alan Morrison (Waterloo Press)
12= Songs For Lesser Gods by Lesley Quayle (erbacce-press)
12= Vincent Van Gogh Would Love Your Mum by Bobby Parker
(last chance before bathtime publications)
Corfu Holiday Poems Galore by Simon Robson (Grosvenor Road Books)
Dead Cat Bounce by Richard Warren (White Elephant Press)
Reading Lesson in the Lifers’Wing by F.J.Williams (Peterloo Poets)
This 7 Year Old Walks Into A Bar by Gill O’Halloran
(Indigo Dreams Press)
The Way Of The Dance by Ronnie Goodyer (Indigo Dreams Press)
Lovelines by Tom Kelly (Red Squirrel Press)
20= Science & Magic by Richard Warren (White Elephant Press)
20= Walayat Deko by Khadim Hussain (Mudfog)
20= If by Peter Day (Poetry Monthly Press)

Best Anthologies of 2009
1969 And All That Ed.Pete Presford (Malfunction Press)
Ink, Sweat & Tears www.ink-sweat-and-tears.com – hoorah, that's us
Irish Lifelines Ed. Eamer O’Keeffe (London Irish Women’s Centre)
Subterranean Homesick Yorkshire Blues (Indigo Dreams Press)
and again last night (Indigo Dreams Press)
Get It by Onya Wick (Cestrian Press)
Trouble Swapped For Something Fresh Ed.Rupert Loydell (Salt)
Norfolk Poets and Writers Ed.Wendy Webb (Wendy Webb Books)(3)
Waves 2009 (Soc. of Civil &Public Service Workers)(5)
The Exhibitionists (Stairwell Books)

Best Overseas Magazines of the Year
Chiron Review no.85 (USA)
Chiron Review no.87
Chimera no.7 (France)
The Moon vol.7 no.7 (USA)
The Moon vol.7 no.9
The Moon vol.7 no.8
Labour of Love no.32 (Canada) (3)
8= Labour of Love no.31
8= People Cant Drive (USA)
Waterways vol.29 no. 10 (USA) (4)
11= Litspeak 24 (Germany)
11= Waterways vol.29 no.s 7,8.

Blindsight
 
A blind man walks an obstacle course
without bumping into a thing
 
they call it blindsight
when the brain interprets
what the eye doesn’t know it sees
 
like telescopes picking up light specks from space
or computers processing data for years
unattended except by spiders
 
who if they could read would know that at 11:47 am
a new planet was discovered
moving away from Earth at great speed
 
covered in things that look like cities


* Vanessa Gebbie is author of Words from a Glass Bubble and contributing editor to Short Circuit, a Guide to the Art of the Short Story (both Salt Publishing). www.vanessagebbie.com 

I waited for him
On the corner of the street
Like a sad hooker.
 

Stuck inside again
Trapped by chicken pox and germs
Unable to fly.
 

Captain Hook is bad
But his hook is pretty cool
And what a hairstyle!
 

I can’t believe it
Just when I thought it was safe
Another salesman.


* Sue Gee says "My four haiku were inspired by being stuck inside with poorly children. I live in Stockport, England. I have just finished a literature degree. I blog at www.concreteandflowers.blogspot.com
 

* Jeffrey Winke is a haiku/haibun/haiga poet and public relations counselor. Recent publications include That Smirking Face, a haiku-art broadside collaboration with Matt Cipov (Milwaukee: Distant Thunder Press, 2008) and PR Idea Book: 50 Proven Tools That Really Work (Denver: Outskirts Press, 2006). www.jeffwinke.com

The Poetry Trust is offering a two-for-one ticket offer for two fantastic events taking place during the 21st Aldeburgh Poetry Festival 6 - 8 November 2009. To book your discounted tickets call the Box Office on 01728 687110 and quote ‘Cut Offer’.
 
TWO FOR ONE: FAMILY READING: JOHN HEGLEY - FRIDAY 6 NOVEMBER, JUBILEE HALL, 6.00 – 7.00PM, £6 adults/£4 (under 16s)
The hugely entertaining and fabulously funny John Hegley is one of the country's best-loved poet/performers . An hour of songs, poems and joining in's for all ages is promised as John reflects on insects, people and potatoes. The Observer says ‘John Hegley is to potatoes what Wordsworth has been to daffodils’. The evening begins with a short and always endearing reading by the winners of the Suffolk Young Poets Competition.
 
TWO FOR ONE: PETER BLEGVAD IN PERFORMANCE - SATURDAY 7 NOVEMBER, JUBILEE HALL, 5.45 – 6.30PM, £6
Cult-cartoonist and successful singer-songwriter Peter Blegvad will provide a musical interlude during the annual Aldeburgh weekend of words. Described as a veritable mix of Bob Dylan, Elvis Costello, Leonard Cohen, Loudon Wainwright III and Tom Waits this is a rare chance to hear him solo and acoustic. Peter Blegvad is also the genius behind the Independent on Sunday cartoon creation Leviathan  which entertained readers throughout the 90s. You can expect the same surreal wit, pathos and entertainment from his cool tunes and sharp lyrics.

Tourist Season

we’d sit by the lake and he’d tell me stories
of the places he’d been, with convoluted names like
“Nebraska” and “Mississippi”
the difference in the way one pronounces “Kansas”
and “Arkansas.” The people in his stories
were as exotic as the places they lived—men
who cut sheet metal into animal silhouettes
bent spades into birdhouses and
turned old train cars into hotels.
I wanted to badly to be with him in Colorado
to stand in the exact spot where four state lines met
to take a small rubber raft over rocks and dangerous rapids
and survive it all. He kept saying, Next time, next time, I promise.
Next time.”

I waited by the lake for him to come and get me
waited with my suitcase packed, ready to leave
visions of Indianapolis burning holes in my brain
but he never came back to get me, never took me away.


* Holly Day is a travel writing instructor living in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with her husband and two children. Her most recent nonfiction books are Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies and Walking Twin Cities.

The Mother*

The woman who gave birth to me said
Stop playing around, you’re worse than the cat

So she took a bat and hit me
Over the head and kicked me
With her legs and fists
And threw a knife in the air

But only to warn me
Never to behave that way again

Days passed and years as well
Small wounds do still ache and swell
So she took the world and slipped me
Some pills, matches and lit me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gay Piano

My little thumb numb crawling up your bum
I want you to make me pop pop popular

Manoeuvre my tongue through your lung
Like an anchor not down to your knees
But nearer to your peen
The stirring sound of delicate pubes testickled

Where I would not close an eye
Not sleep a wink but play you
Like the gay piano you are
Pinky pink all numb crawling up yours


* Bio(degradable):
A Child was born the day her mother left their family home in anger, threatening to move back to grandma’s house, leaving her and her father standing on the porch. Staring fearfully, she turned to her daddy and asked: “Do you know how to cook?”

* The Mother was first published in Poetry Showcase online.