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Showing posts from January, 2019

Heavy Ghosts by Jared A. Carnie

The heavy ghosts of Sheffield
spend their money on beer just like you and me.
The heavy ghosts of Sheffield drift between West Street Tesco and Glossop Road Sainsburys.
They feed off winter air, floored eyes and sorry-that’s-all-I’ve-gots.
The heavy ghosts have living dogs. We see them and we smile. We think of them shivering in the rain and we reach out to them and tell them they are good. The living dogs tugs at our heartstrings.
The heavy ghosts are there and waiting.
We build their coffins out of 2ps and apologies.
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Jared A. Carnie lives in Sheffield. He won a Northern Writers Award in 2015, and his debut novel, Waves, was published in 2016. He can be found at www.jaredacarnie.com.

What we're looking for

The online writing community is a wonderful space for creativity, questions and general support. So it comes as no surprise that this section of our website was prompted largely by a simple tweet from a user asking:

'Dear Reader, what kind of poems are you looking for?'

The answer to this question could get a little too long-winded, so in the interest of keeping things short and sweet: I (Charley) am looking for something that makes me feel. It might seem like an abstract answer, but anything that looks at something in close detail, or looks at something anew, anything that gives away a little piece of the author and leaves me with a, 'Hm', feeling, is exactly what I'd like for Dear Reader.

To give something a little more concrete, here are some please do's for submitting:

Make sure that your work is edited and proofed, because it breaks my heart to turn down a poem just because it hasn't been cooked for long enoughHave a look at what has been published so f…

He Chose This Track by Emma Lee

He was the physics graduate
who couldn’t operate a washing machine. The grade eight pianist whose fingers shook too much to caress the keys. The man who’d argue addiction wasn’t his fault and, in the next breath, deny he drank. He wanted the band to make it so he could be managed, but skipped rehearsals, wrote clich├ęs and watched his history. He said his biggest achievement was marriage, but chose not to see he was killing the thing he loved, the thing who refused to enable him, the thing he undermined by turning to family who would pay for him not to return to them. His tragedy was that he chose not to see the band imploding, chose not to see unreasonable behaviour on divorce papers, didn’t see connections, chose to press self-destruct.
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Emma Lee’s recent collection is “Ghosts in the Desert” (IDP, UK 2015). “The Significance of a Dress” is forthcoming from Arachne (UK). She co-edited “Over Land, Over Sea,” (Five Leaves, UK, 2015), reviews for The Blue Nib, High Window Journal, The Journal, London Gr…

Pareidolia by Jennie Farley

She sees faces in clouds, cushions, car wheels,
the froth on a cappuccino. She’s seen the Virgin Mary’s frown in a cheese sandwich. But never the face of God.
In Church she feels the glory all around her, golden and sticky like brandy snaps, the Saints are glaring, stern as glass. But where is the face of God?
She searches town and country, the patterns in pavements, grazed walls, the tread of steps backs of buses, rain-streaked windows, puddles.
In the woods one day she is caught by a sudden storm. A hurtle of wind flings her against a tree, eyes black and staring from a Wanted poster nailed to the trunk.
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Jennie Farley is a published poet, workshop leader and teacher. Her poetry has featured in many magazines including Under the Radar, New Welsh Review, The Interpreter’s House, and online journals. She has performed her work at Cheltenham Literature Festival, Cheltenham Poetry Festival, Swindon Poetry Festival, Cheltenham Everyman Theatre, Bristol Berkeley Square Review and other venues. She foun…

Letters never sent by Beth O'Brien

I write you letters, like these ones here. 

I focus on my handwriting  so I don’t over-think the words  I’m never going to show you. 
I burn a stamp, an envelope, and imagine  flames dancing from inside a postbox, pretending I can smell the ink melting.  Sometimes, I think that’s the only way forward and I wonder if red becomes redder if you burn it? 
Every letter I write is a reminder of why  they are letters never sent.  Every letter I never send is a reminder of why  I write you words, like these ones here.
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Beth O’Brien is a third year English Literature student at the University of Birmingham. She has had work published with Foxglove JournalNine Muses Poetry, and BellaOnline Literary Review. She is a reviewer for Mad Hatter Reviews and Riggwelter Press, and has written articles for sheswanderful.comand the Graduate Recruitment Bureau blog.