Addiction
He rolled the carpet into a giant cigar and started to smoke it. The shag pile burned well enough and gave him a pleasant high. He defrosted the fridge freezer and melted it down on a teaspoon. The kitchen table and chairs broke up into powder that went straight up his nose. He drank the three-piece suite. The house finally empty, he started to pick at the walls brick by brick.
Kate L Fox
Sunday, 20 March 2011
A sneak peak at 'slantways'
This Time Tomorrow
Half an hour from this time tomorrow, you will go out onto the spit again. You will take each step as the water peels back.
You’ll wade in, then watch your feet dry as the tide recedes. Move as far as you dare into the low waves rolling up the bank, see the light crystallise the eddies to almost solid, then watch them disappear.
You will find that the way opens out to you. That you will not be cut off and left for dead, your children crying for their mother, your husband scanning the horizon forevermore.
In so many ways, it’s that simple. The more you walk here the more you know the tides, the play of wind and gravity, and land. The less you know you understand.
Patricia Debney
Half an hour from this time tomorrow, you will go out onto the spit again. You will take each step as the water peels back.
You’ll wade in, then watch your feet dry as the tide recedes. Move as far as you dare into the low waves rolling up the bank, see the light crystallise the eddies to almost solid, then watch them disappear.
You will find that the way opens out to you. That you will not be cut off and left for dead, your children crying for their mother, your husband scanning the horizon forevermore.
In so many ways, it’s that simple. The more you walk here the more you know the tides, the play of wind and gravity, and land. The less you know you understand.
Patricia Debney
Venue change
The launch event for slantways will now be held at Waterstones in Rose Lane, Canterbury. Same time - 6pm Tuesday 22nd March.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Our latest publication
slantways
slantways collects prose poems crafted by MA students of ‘doyenne’ of the genre Patricia Debney, many of whom are published and award-winning writers in their own right. Like the best examples of the form, this work probes beneath the surface, ignoring the obvious to illuminate the unexpected, reflecting and refracting the world as we know it, looking with attention but always slantways. a collection of prose poems edited by WordAid founder members, Patricia Debney and Jen Kahawatte. For a list of contributors visit our contributors page.
All profits from sales go to JDRF (the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation), a charity that works to prevent, treat and cure type 1 diabetes. We are holding a launch event as part of the University of Kent’s Tuesday reading series on 22 March 2011.
Please come along and support us – and if you can’t be there, then go to our publications page to buy a copy!
slantways collects prose poems crafted by MA students of ‘doyenne’ of the genre Patricia Debney, many of whom are published and award-winning writers in their own right. Like the best examples of the form, this work probes beneath the surface, ignoring the obvious to illuminate the unexpected, reflecting and refracting the world as we know it, looking with attention but always slantways. a collection of prose poems edited by WordAid founder members, Patricia Debney and Jen Kahawatte. For a list of contributors visit our contributors page.
All profits from sales go to JDRF (the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation), a charity that works to prevent, treat and cure type 1 diabetes. We are holding a launch event as part of the University of Kent’s Tuesday reading series on 22 March 2011.
Please come along and support us – and if you can’t be there, then go to our publications page to buy a copy!
Friday, 28 January 2011
Read poems from 'The Space Beyond'
Not Young
Today, perhaps you woke to find
that overnight
all this old stuff −
until now just gradually gaining ground −
had put on a spurt,
entirely engulfed your muscles,
lagged your bones.
You nursed a brain
slumped heavy in its skull,
old and tired.
Your crabbed old feet, leather
in leather, set about
their tired old path.
The day waxed
old before its time.
Even the sun looked every one
of its four and a half billion years,
heaving wanly up the sky.
Maybe you reflected
that someone as old as you
should at least be wise,
all-seeing? All you see
is your long long life
tumbled like the chaos
in the wake of a tornado.
And blood welling
from hindsight
sharp
as a stiletto.
Skin
We don’t leave the light on any more
and we take it slow, tantric.
If you’re measuring pleasure
it’s the fingers these days which give
and take the most as they travel
the rollers and troughs of this
the largest organ.
Sixty-odd years since we two virgins
cast off together, startled and star-struck
by the newness of the other,
its alien complexities, its concaves
where convexities might be, its
unexpected hards and softs.
Now there’s untold solace in tracing
the progress of each sag and crease
when, as if to dope a biplane,
the hand smoothes and varnishes
places where skin fits over bone,
or it animates flesh hanging
folded like the wasted wings of the moa.
No more the fervour of discovery −
it’s the same secret island
only, a simoom is blowing, dry
and dusty, re-forming contours
into a comfortable approximation
of how the land once used to lie.
Today, perhaps you woke to find
that overnight
all this old stuff −
until now just gradually gaining ground −
had put on a spurt,
entirely engulfed your muscles,
lagged your bones.
You nursed a brain
slumped heavy in its skull,
old and tired.
Your crabbed old feet, leather
in leather, set about
their tired old path.
The day waxed
old before its time.
Even the sun looked every one
of its four and a half billion years,
heaving wanly up the sky.
Maybe you reflected
that someone as old as you
should at least be wise,
all-seeing? All you see
is your long long life
tumbled like the chaos
in the wake of a tornado.
And blood welling
from hindsight
sharp
as a stiletto.
Skin
We don’t leave the light on any more
and we take it slow, tantric.
If you’re measuring pleasure
it’s the fingers these days which give
and take the most as they travel
the rollers and troughs of this
the largest organ.
Sixty-odd years since we two virgins
cast off together, startled and star-struck
by the newness of the other,
its alien complexities, its concaves
where convexities might be, its
unexpected hards and softs.
Now there’s untold solace in tracing
the progress of each sag and crease
when, as if to dope a biplane,
the hand smoothes and varnishes
places where skin fits over bone,
or it animates flesh hanging
folded like the wasted wings of the moa.
No more the fervour of discovery −
it’s the same secret island
only, a simoom is blowing, dry
and dusty, re-forming contours
into a comfortable approximation
of how the land once used to lie.
Saturday, 8 January 2011
The Space Beyond
We are really excited about the next WordAid project, The Space Beyond, a solo collection of poetry by Deal writer, and one of WordAid's founder members, Jo Field on the theme of ageing and memory.
All profits from sales go to Dementia UK, a charity that works to improve the quality of life for all people affected by dementia. The book will be available from 21 January and we are holding a launch event in Deal on 10 February. Please come along and support us – and if you can’t be there, then go to our publications page to buy a copy!
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