Latest podcast is from Marie Lightman, an excellent poet from Newcastle (UK) way, the founder of the Writers Cafe, and numerous other projects including Writers for Calais and Writers against prejudice of which can be read at writersagainstprejudice.wordpress.com

I first spoke to Marie during the Writers for Calais and was really impressed with her writing to such a level, a podcast was discussed some time, but has finally been nailed now.

It's a great podcast. Hope you all enjoy it

Andy

(With Permission - the poems are:

DAY PRINTING

Twilight leaves
a watermark you
can only detect
when the trees
fade out to
nothing.

Dawn brings
oil and water
to task. Print
a new day! An
open book for
the morning.

***

DEAR OVER THE ROAD

Have you noticed me yet?
I move in to your steps as they caress
the pavement that you tread
on the way to the 45 bus.

Have you found what I left
in your brown leather bag,
something which wasn’t
there before, which if you
understand it belongs there now?

Have you closed your blinds?
Your form makes shadow puppets
for me as I watch your bed routine
tracing your outline with my finger on my knee.

Have you smelt me when I sit
behind on the bus wearing
eau de cologne, cooling to the skin,
distinct covering the musk that
is as close as your neck.

Have you remembered me yet?
I sat next to you once the driver
was new, a novices ride,
kept getting thrown to each other,
that’s when I knew as my leg touched your thigh.

I got off just behind, with enough distance to follow
you to your door and see you enter your flat
pulling your blind fully up you stretched in to the sunlight
standing there as a statue art nouveau,
staring directly at me.

Have you found it yet?

***

CHAGILL IN BOXES

Caterpillars in matchboxes
cornflower blue barbed with red spots
clumps of meadowsweet and foxgloves
cling together like patterns on socks
sugary worms stuck together in a sweet jar
next to All Saints church with window ink spots
we try to guess what you are
what you will turn into
you but a little bit more?
Will you be a writer who only writes blue?
Or a painter like Chagall who designed the windows?
I think you will live on the sea looking for you
In my hand I raise you to the rainbow,
light falling on ground random thrown
chase crashing waves and wiggle with doves
place you down you refract on the stones

***

MONA LISA – A CONVERSATION BETWEEN SUBJECT AND ARTIST

“My lady, describe what you see”

On a mission for the
sea, I find poppy fields and vine
valley choking
with honeysuckle; a
ruined farm, covered in ivy;
river with a branch for a
makeshift bridge. I perch on
a large boulder with bits of
quartz in it, being careful not to
muddy my dress.

“My lady, Try not to smile”

I throw pebbles and look
where the river reflection
breaks. From the bank,
I extract a blade
of grass and crack, to form
a whistle. I remove my
stockings to step
into the shallows and a
pike touches. Thunder is a black
knife dividing the
sky. Heavy
raindrop falls into
my mouth.

“Stay still my lady. Try, please, holding onto your arm”

***

MEADOWSWEET

Pick poppy heads
to make printing
blocks, whilst Louise
cartwheels in the
grass showing her
knickers.

Find a succulent stem
to chew like a farm
hand and then feather
grass into fountains.

Make shooting grass
wrapping stem tight
round it's head. Louise
now checking whether
I like butter.