Poems by Dick Jones, Ann Copeland, John Gohorry, Barbara Wheeler, Adrian Boddy, Anne Sinclaire, Nicola Jackson, Simon Cockle, Nicky Phillips, Richard J.N. Copeland, Yuko Minamikawa Adams, David Van-Cauter, Rose Saliba and Jay Ward.
A Poetry ID member Yuko Minamikawa Adams is going to read her Japanese poems with her poetry friends in Tokyo:
Sunday, 4th December 2016
Cafe Lavanderia, Koyosha Bldg. 2-12-9 Shinjuku, Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo
Yuko Minamikawa Adams, Misako Yarita, Junko Arakawa, Maki Kitazume, Shinobu Nagasawa and Kanako Ura.
Poems by Gareth Writer-Davies, Ann Copeland, John Gohorry, Barbara Wheeler, Adrian Boddy, Ríonach Aiken, Dennis Tomlinson, Nicola Jackson, Simon Cockle, Nicky Phillips, Richard J.N. Copeland, Clare Crossman, Adam Warwicker, Yuko Minamikawa Adams, David Van-Cauter, Rose Saliba and Jay Ward
Click here to contact us if you’re interested.
Sewing satin hearts,
they make the same shape of love
in a factory.
Just revisiting my trip last year to cheer the dark days of a UK January.
Snorkelling, Peter Island. February 2015.
I lie suspended, spread eagled, hanging between the air I know
and the world all new to me below. I am a meniscus,
fine balanced, playing the surface tension,
suspended in the earth’s curve mirroring the surface.
I am motionless and washed by the gentle swell,
suspended. Gently I work my limbs, newly given force by fins.
A swish and I head in, expecting the first stubby sponges,
deepest russet red, giant hand corals planted on the rock
where I had left them the day before, planted in my mind’s eye.
Anticipation, breathing steady through the plastic tube and valve.
And here they are, staking out this submarine garden.
A lilac flat fish sails by with gentle subtle hues
against the soft cream sand. Angel fish trick the eye
with yellow band and rearguard spot, sightless protectors
to the little band. Astonishing jagged arrow fish graze the algal lawn,
pale cream and Art Deco arrow dart with brilliant turquoise fin.
The glitter of the damsel fish, electric blue and flat,
and tiny wriggly young, their fat pubescent tummies
deepest purest blue, with salt- crystal turquoise spangles,
fritillaries of the seas.
And back and forth the purple sea fans sway,
sieving the seas for all of time, and pipe fish roll
along the sandy floor in ceaseless swish and sway of swell upon the reef,
drawing me in. I am almost done, just revisiting each gem
in disbelief, imprinting on the inner eye.
A great grey grouper sails stately by
with pink and fleshy lips, impassive. I ate his cousin
the night before so wince apology.
And how would Darwin not have dwelt upon these wonders
had he seen, foundation of the origins of earth revealed
through a simple plastic tube and mask
and wondrous light.
The year becomes new
on each 1st January
while I get older.