New poetry anthology: Southernmost Point Guest House

Pretend Genius have just released a beautiful new collection of poetry, featuring some regular Willesden Green Writers Group writers.

Southernmost Point Guest House is a collection that brings together poetry by writers currently living in America, Britain, Ireland, Italy and New Zealand. They have little in common other than finding themselves here, in this book, and in the early part of the 21st century, with something to say. Contributors: Raewyn Alexander, Alex Barr, Lynn Blackadder, Sean Brijbasi, Susan Campbell, David Cooke, Tim Craven, Mikey Delgado, Vanessa Gebbie, Kim Göransson, James Browning Kepple, Charles Lambert, Laura Lee, Andrew Mayne, Geraldine Mills, Stephen Moran, Nuala Ní Chonchúir, Richard Peabody, Lynsey Rose, Judi Sutherland, Lee Webber. The title is taken from a poem by Alex Barr.

You can buy the book here on Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/SOUTHERNMOST-POINT-GUEST-HOUSE/dp/0985213396

Don’t forget, we’d love to see you at Bar on 16 January!
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More sex from The Green Press…

But, you know, literary sex. Intellectual. By Lee Webber.

 

Wilde’s Tomb

In vogue, with sodomite gait and a wink,
I kiss your grave and mouth your name, and then
imagine Savoy tables, amber drinks,
my buttocks tight like all your suppered men!
Just charm me Wilde. I€™m done with being coy.
I want a cigarette case made of gold.
I’€™ll let you feast on me, I’€™ll be your boy,
let scandal, infamy, pure love unfold!
Now lipstick covers you, your pigment shroud,
I hope you know the wonder that you give,
a homemade epitaph spells it out loud,
says €˜here lies the best man who ever lived€™.
I’€™ll leave you, cursing Victorian luck,
I’€™d sell my soul for one Wildean fuck.

 

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It’s cold outside… fancy a poem about an affair?

Another unsatisfying sex session with Miss Lynsey Rose.

Aftermath

I knew it would be the end if we did it.
I imagined how it would be.
I pictured it like a bad film
The door slamming behind you
Me throwing myself on the crumpled bed
I even knew what I’€™d think:
€œWe€™’re damned€.
I compiled a play-list of music to sob to
All the hard stuff,
From weepy as hell
to unbridled anger.
I was really going to
relish it.
I was really looking forward to it.
As it was
It didn€’™t work out like that.
We did it on the couch
At lunchtime.
It took us 15 minutes to get home
And back
So time was against us.
Plus the conversation about
Shall we/ shan’€™t we?
took a few minutes more.
But we basically already had.
It wasn€’™t ideal
I wasn’€™t wearing my seamless knickers,
Or my decent skirt.
Afterwards,
the first thing you said was,
€˜We must never do that again.€™
Charming.
You looked shell-shocked.
And we couldn’€™t find the condom-wrapper
to hide.
I had to drive us back to work
And guilty songs came on the radio
One you knew
And one I knew.
I tried to keep your head together
When I just wanted to
Sellotape my own mind up.
This wasn’€™t how I planned it.
Back in the office
Emailing about the aftermath
Knowing it would
never happen again
I wished for one more chance
To fuck up in style.

 

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A smoking break with Lee Webber…

We may be green but we like a fag and a snog from time to time.


Vigil

Nicotine drops you
headfirst. Thoughts kick and bruise you.
A year since she left
you’€™re scratching your head,
pulling on a cigarette,
sat on pale-brown grass.
Hard for her, you’€™d yield-
firm lips, Vaseline kisses
dancing cold on your neck.
Afterwards a fag,
warm beer and sunburn, silence,
her hand on your wrist.
You never said €˜stay€™.
Was it right to sweeten her
with doormat eyelids,
only to sit mute,
your yellow lungs like cowards
breathing back the words?
Now cold, shadow set,
you offer ash to darkness,
suck your cigarette.

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What’s in a word?

This poem, by Anne Mullane, is a bit like ‘I’d do anything for love’ by Meatloaf.

The Word

We are mesmerised by the word.
That word
The one you just said.
In this brightly lit café
It lies between us
Acid sharp, it flays the table.
And the future lurches
And you are placed apart
Cut off from the herd.
You look at me, expectant,
Embarrassed.
But I cannot help you
I don’€™t know how,
I wasn’€™t expecting
That word.

 

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