Midnight Illness
Home is only ever found in glimpses,
the night-fragrance of a lover’s shoulder,
the warm throb of the pulse beneath the skin
of the throat, the green scent of trees captured
in the pages of the right kind of book.
You feel ‘home’ in a burst of pleasant light
that flares in the tissue hidden behind
the string-like nerves of your eyes. It remains
unnamed until the golden warmth consumes
a cavity. Melancholy swarms in
and then you learn that, yes, you really had
something beautiful — for a little while.
Bethany W Pope has published several collections of poetry: A Radiance (Cultured Llama, 2012) Crown of Thorns, (Oneiros Books, 2013), The Gospel of Flies (Writing Knights Press 2014), and Undisturbed Circles (Lapwing, 2014). Her first novel, Masque, shall be published by Seren in 2016.
Light
light has been sinking into me since nineteen fifty nine
my shadow points at where it should have been
and tells me most of it is reflected,
random photons streaming away
but some, some gets inside.
it pours in through the eyes
and my hair, at least the dark bits,
and the blue-black grating
of my tattoo
or into the dark scab
where i cut my finger
exchanging blood for brightness.
i think of starlight
it’s travelled all that way
from before we even evolved
into things that know what stars are
or that their light sinks into us,
fills us with bright wonder.
Originally from North Wales, Roddy Williams lives and works in London. His poetry has recently appeared in ‘Popshot; ‘The North’, ‘Magma’, ‘The Frogmore Papers’, ‘Obsessed With Pipework’ and other magazines. He is a keen surrealist photographer and painter.
Shackleton
From deck, ice binds the span of what he sees
and moonlight etches out volcanoes
distant but distinct. Without the wind, a spell is cast.
Dark against the shining plain each shadow
of each peak and rock leaps up.
He sees Erebus raised to outer space
and hears the first dog’s howl into the roof of south,
the note’s decay and then the new plaint
relayed through the pack. And then,
no more. He listens for the freezing
of his exhaled breath instead.
And the dry air rustles with his lungs’ faint leaves.
Afar, a line of mountains, south, and south of thought.
Let me taste the whole of it, he said.
Jean Atkin is a poet, writer and experienced educator, based in Shropshire. Her collection Not Lost Since Last Time is published by Oversteps Books and she has also published five poetry pamphlets and a children’s novel. She has held residencies in libraries, museums, festivals and even a beach and she works as a poet and writer on projects in both Scotland and England. She is Poet in Residence for Wenlock Poetry Festival 2015-16. www.jeanatkin.com
Note: Shackleton used to recite from Browning while on watch on the ‘Discovery’ on Captain Scott’s expedition to Antarctica. ‘Let me taste the whole of it’ from Prospice by Robert Browning.