Intermeal IV
The mother root protects
And makes me feel
Connected,
Even when everything else is
Hectic all around and meaningless
In the shadow of the grey city.
© Paul Hegginson 2012
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A short piece by Paul Hegginson here. Contained within are images of being at one with yourself inside the crushing anonymity of the city (talking about the city, please look at out Publications page for details of our first anthology)
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Submissions still needed for our first anthology
Things are coming along nicely, we have a few really good submissions from writers already, but we are looking for more people to submit their work for the anthology. More info below for people new to us:
We’re looking for writers to submit their best work on the subject of “The City” for an anthology we’ll be putting out on Kindle late Feb/early March. Interpretation of the subject is open, and any style of poetry is welcome. This will be a free download, readily available to anyone on the internet. So, if you want to get your name out there a little bit, we welcome any style, 40 lines maximum, on the subject of “The City”. Let your imagination run wild, and show us what you’ve got.
Send all submissions to dagdapublishing@hotmail.co.uk
And whilst you’re here, we are also looking for any work to feature on this site itself, any style or subject is welcome. Also, why not stay awhile and read what’s already here? We have cookies and milk. You know you want to. You also know you want to hit “subscribe” :p
The Blue Marble
a blue dot in the dark .
we are
so far entwined in stars
like dust
guided by the whirling chaos
we are
unpredicted works of art
grounded
the blackness rolls infinate
lit up
flashes already happened
like a disco
on the edge of nothingness
we are
camping on a rock in time
forever
somewhere else we dont know
who knows?
on the blue marble
life goes on
© Jonny Wilson 2012
A Poem to you
Do you remember
that film you made me sit through?
Well, I found it today
in the back of a cupboard,
in a dusty box.
I’m watching it once again,
with fresh eyes,
I thought you should know.
There was a certain point,
where you laughed,
and I cringed,
which I must admit,
has made me laugh along with you,
finally.
Even though you’re probably watching a different film now.
In someone else’s arms.
Probably with a new cat purring
contentedly, in your lap.
So, I’m watching this old film
again, the one which I hated with
such vitriol, but one which
I admit I now love.
They say it’s better late,
than never,
but I beg to differ with them.
I just thought you’d like to know.
Copyright © Reg Davey, 2011-2012
(Image © Patries71 Used under creative commons license)
Ginger Nut
This piece is heartfelt, with just a tinge of sadness to it. One to evoke memories of times gone by, through the medium of objects that have sensory familiarity.
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How I’ve loved you Ginger Nut,
So sturdy and so solid,
You never crumbled in my tea
Or left those dregs like porridge
A smell and taste so distinctive,
You remind me of times gone.
Granny Nel always gave me one -
Your cracks matched those on her tongue
Lazy Sundays with mum in bed
Your crumbs staining our nighties,
We scattered some with her ashes
Along with her fags and lighters
Ink still drying on the papers,
Happiness forgotten,
Fumbling in my bag for a hanky
My hand met you at the bottom
How I’ve loved you Ginger Nut,
Like a rising, auburn sun
Those wafers and thins don’t cut it,
But look at the size of my bum
© Emma Coleman 2012
(Image © Stephcookie - Used under Creative Commons licence)
The Boring Chameleon
Like a ventriloquist’s dummy
Your thoughts are channelled through me
I only feel what you project
I only see what you reflect
When you’re gone I am nothing
When you’re near, I’m still not me, rather…
…whoever it is you want me to be
Like a classic movie
I make believe in every scene
A mystery, a true romance
A comedy, a song and dance
Whatever I think you need to see
In reality you’ve never met me
I’m as vibrant as the unlit screen
© Rob Hernandez 2012
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A nice piece by Rob here, full of mystery and sadness.
Show some love in the comments below.
Moonlight, Blue-Eyed Girl, Forgive me & Table Scraps (a selection of short pieces by Daniel Williams)
We decided to publish all four Daniel sent in to us, as they all seem to complement each other, and are best read together, in order.
Realism, tinged with a hint of regret, they contain many hidden depths of meaning that the reader can relate to.
Show some love in the comments below.
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Moonlight
and sometimes
when it is late at night
(and I am alone)
I remember,
I remember…
Blue-Eyed Girl
Blue-eyed girl asks
if I want more wine
‘No,’ I say,
‘you have it’.
She finishes the bottle.
I smile.
Forgive me
forgive me,
if what I do
doesn’t make much sense,
I am
more me
in words
than I am
in flesh
Table Scraps
Scraps
from your table
taste good
to a starved man
but
he’d never think to ask
for a proper meal
© Daniel Williams 2012
Writers wanted for anthology
Good evening/morning/afternoon.
We’re looking for writers to submit their best work on the subject of “The City” for an anthology we’ll be putting out on Kindle in just under two months time. Interpretation of the subject is open, and any style of poetry is welcome. This will be a free download, readily available to anyone on the internet. So, if you want to get your name out there a little bit, we welcome any style, 40 lines maximum, on the subject of “The City”. Let your imagination run wild, and show us what you’ve got.
Send all submissions to dagdapublishing@hotmail.co.uk
And, while you’re there, why not come inside and make yourself comfortable in the virtual armchair that we have over here. Have a read of our featured writers, and show ‘em some love. We have cookies, you know.
Dagda Publishing.
For Amy
She made me feel like poetry wasn’t enough.
When we listened to Jeff Buckley cry ‘Hallelujah,’
In a dusty disused single apartment room, sitting still before the laptop laid on a worn and carved old desk,
Facing full length windows struck with fat drops of the April rain,
While gray clouds darkened the red and gold leaves hanging from black branches,
Ignoring the moving world
I sat and she leaned on me,
Winding her arms around my chest and the music soared and her heart pounded to the electric beat,
Pounded for me.
I knew only that I wanted more than anything
To write something, to do anything, that would make her heart pound like that.
I can still feel it, hot on my warm neck in the dust against the dusky rain.
I smell her breath and feel her hair,
Sliding down the front of my bare chest,
And I feel her lips resting softly against my eyes
And hear her breathe in the dark mornings
When I couldn’t sleep for fear I would lose my waking dreams.
She begged me to be real and I tried but we died and she cried.
I could not stop dreaming, could not live in the world of concrete reality –
How could I, when she, reality spun from a fervid, half-believed and worshipped dream, waited for me?
She was like tea in October,
When death is in the air and children are in the streets and you don’t care,
Because what you hold in your hands is hot and strong and sweet and makes you feel alive,
And you don’t want to let it go.
It’s hazy now, but they still come to me,
The sensual memories and pangs of moments passed,
Scenes from around the world and the promises we made.
But I wasn’t enough to give her what she gave me:
Yellowed visions of autumn days and winter nights,
Early morning sighs of contentment that haunt me even today, blackmailing me into writing this,
Even if it will only ever reach the eyes of the half that is yearning to pull away, like a mutt tied to a stake;
Even if it fails to make her heart beat hard and fast for me, for me.
© Billy Ji, 2012
Velvet Darkness
Through the air, upon the mists,
As night coils round tree trunks
Like an ancient serpent from a dusty tome,
And a thousand stars point the way,
Like mystic twinkling hands
In random fire-side blinking,
I follow the trail of dreams
Left behind by Seers and Sages,
They wandered near,
And traveled far…
