Five poems by Karen Little

Free poetry, life, mood, poetry, Uncategorized, women writing, writing

I am not a silent poet

The morning after

I explain everything while you’re sleeping;
how I got lost by the river, how the banks were
slippery as eels, how time slipped away, yet
got caught in the weeds at the same time. How
the hooting of owls hypnotized me. How the boat
called me on board; the turbulent water, the throb
of the engine lulled me to sleep.

I was alone, no one touched me, I wasn’t afraid.

When you wake, before I say anything, you assure me
you’d like to tear the lies right out of my throat.  I’m
delicately removing splinters, the needle still hot
from the flame. I feel like the rabbit’s foot dangling
from your key chain, the one you shake in my face. Not
lucky; more like severed, more, loss mixed with shame.

..

Fame

On the first day she learned not to wear underwear
or tight jeans: they mark…

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Sunday Self Portrait

art, discovery, ideas buzzing, life, Pondering, Uncategorized, women painting, women writing

I remember when Sunday was a hollow day. Lonely. That was when the rest of the week was so vibrant with people and life….that in contrast it felt empty. I didn’t know how to fill it. Now, every day is Sunday. And I love it.SUNDAY SELF PORTRA

Addiction

art, Collating poems, colour shape and form, Free poetry, ideas buzzing, life, magazine, poetry, Uncategorized, women writing, writing

Addiction

Have I mentioned ‘I am not a silent poet’ webzine? Maybe…..it’s worth checking out…and seeing if some of your poems are a fit…if you are a submitter….or if you like that kind of  writing as a reader. This is one of my poems that went up on the site a few months ago. I’m on with a project…art/writing….so it came up today:

Addiction

Clouds lower, proving the curves of sky in broad strokes.
Sea should soothe, its enviable power override the black dog
bounding towards me. I watch sprite shadows scamper

along sea walls, see him hook twin trout wriggling
on the end of taut lines, reeling them in, hugging
their slippery bodies.  I no longer lust after him;

my addiction to unreality, found at the bottom of wine bottles,
gives me extra layers of skin as he flays them.
We’re angry as gulls squabbling over ham baked by the sun.

Angelica

Free poetry, life, poetry, Uncategorized, women writing, writing

Today I have a poem up on Atrium Poetry. I would highly recommend reading and submitting work to this fabulous online magazine….

Angelica

The Inheritance of Loss afforded him
opportunity to leave her. The Other Hand
was saved for us, shaped how she raised us.
Intimacy meant getting close enough
to have our blocks knocked off. The Great Beast
was tucked behind curtains or under blankets.
Slaughterhouse fueled my nightmares; her
choosing from curtains of meat at Snapes’s
while I gazed at meringues next door in Burton’s.
Topped with angelica, I knew they were reserved
for The Most Beautiful Woman in Town.

Karen Little trained as a dancer and a fine artist. She is widely published as a poet in the UK and further afield.

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Books, Dog bed, Trailer carpet and Nylobone

book, fiction, novella, Uncategorized, women writing, writing

For sale: two signed copies of Filled with Ghosts, (Book 1, Spanish Spectres series)…Eight signed copies of Ghosts Treading Water (Book 3 Spanish Spectres series)
Not for sale: my copy of Ghost Train Leaving (Book 2, Spanish Spectres series….unsigned), dog bed, Nylobone and Trailer carpet. Cardboard to be recycled.Ghosts treading water

Progress to Date

book, Collating poems, discovery, poetry, Pondering, Uncategorized, women writing, writing

Sixty-four poems remain in the folder I’ve confidently sharpie-penned ‘1st Collection’
It has found a title, which I’m keeping under wraps. Five or six poems are hanging on by the skin of their teeth and will probably be weeded out during the next ruthless round of decision making. I have been very ruthless to date: many a ‘favourite’ has been unceremoniously dumped because it isn’t what this particular book is about. Discovering what the book is about is a big step for me, as I’ve not thought about it while writing individual poems. I’ve never looked at them as a group before and wondered what my obsessions are outside the confines of the poem I’ve been working on. I realise that isn’t how it is for many writers: they write to a theme when working towards a collection. But it hadn’t occurred to me I was……..

I’ve been Thinking (unedited)

book, Collating poems, discovery, poetry, Uncategorized, unedited, women writing

I’ve been thinking how discovering one tiny thing, one obvious to anyone who has done it all before, can make a huge difference. Yesterday I had several files of poems (the physical kind, in poly-pockets. I like things physical) lurking, filed by date, 2012 to the present. I submit poems quite frequently, so the published ones are all highlighted so I don’t send them elsewhere; I note down where and when published, because that’s useful. But, now I’m getting a collection together, (it already has a home, so it’s a matter of deciding the order, chucking out or grabbing back others if I realise they don’t work together.)

So, the small but mind blowing  discovery? Collate the poems like a book. Have them face each other, find where they are happy to partner up with another poem. So damn obvious, but what a difference it’s made 🙂

Shaping Dreams

poetry, Uncategorized, women writing

 

At the tidal point where ripples run like dominoes
from sea left to sea right, memory offers up decades
of misunderstandings, trying to make things right,
managing to never be right. Reality pounds in my ears
leaving no room for imagination, the crest before anything
happens is the only time our power seems matched.
There’s no turning back, no gentle retreat to look forward to,
just being plucked like a bruised whelk from its shell.
I learn my lesson over and over again, but every wave
is a little different, shifting grains into distinct patterns,
hitting new rhythms, shuffling another set of broken dreams
to fold in on themselves.

First published on: I am not a Silent Poet, 2017

Stream of Consciousness Unedited

Uncategorized, unedited, women writing

Sitting on her doorstep, the neighbour is forming traps out of rusty wire and baiting them with something that  appears to be potato peelings, but could be a more tempting lure. I see the twisting, the pliars busily snapping. I imagine the blood reddening her fingers, the tetanus jab she didn’t have; her shying away from contact with anyone ‘in authority’ makes that inevitable. Her dog, a Golden Labrador, bred to respond, is quietened by a slap of her hands. My dogs are noisy and neurotic, silenced by the promise of treats. I keep coercion close at hand, in a jar.
For days at a time they’re the only living creatures I talk to; they’re easy to understand, uncomplicated, ready to forgive without bearing grudges. The neighbour isn’t so transparent. Whatever it was that turned her against me after the first couple of months, she isn’t letting on.