Picaroon - Issue #11 - November 2017
Welcome to the last 2017 issue of Picaroon, and the last before our extended break - we will be back with Issue #12 after your faithful editor's maternity leave. In the meantime, we have poetry of ice and snow, crime and punishment, death and life - and a garden in spring. Which is where we will meet again (in spring 2018). Featuring work by James H Duncan, F.R. Kesby, p.a. morbid, Jacob Butlett, Bethany Rivers, Sharon Phillips, Rachel Bower, Jessica Mehta, Ali Jones, Juliet Cook, Spangle McQueen, Paul Brookes, Russell Jones, Janet Philo, Brennan Downey, Emma Lee, Joan McNerney, Saira Viola, Reuben Woolley, Kitty Coles, Carla M. Cherry, Nick Allen, Benjamin Smith, Sally Barrett, Simon Williams, Irene Cunningham, Gareth Writer-Davies, Ken Cumberlidge, Ceinwen Haydon, and Jackie Biggs.
Welcome to the last 2017 issue of Picaroon, and the last before our extended break - we will be back with Issue #12 after your faithful editor's maternity leave. In the meantime, we have poetry of ice and snow, crime and punishment, death and life - and a garden in spring. Which is where we will meet again (in spring 2018). Featuring work by James H Duncan, F.R. Kesby, p.a. morbid, Jacob Butlett, Bethany Rivers, Sharon Phillips, Rachel Bower, Jessica Mehta, Ali Jones, Juliet Cook, Spangle McQueen, Paul Brookes, Russell Jones, Janet Philo, Brennan Downey, Emma Lee, Joan McNerney, Saira Viola, Reuben Woolley, Kitty Coles, Carla M. Cherry, Nick Allen, Benjamin Smith, Sally Barrett, Simon Williams, Irene Cunningham, Gareth Writer-Davies, Ken Cumberlidge, Ceinwen Haydon, and Jackie Biggs.
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Ceinwen Haydon<br />
Gibside in Winter<br />
Iced air stings my cheeks to scarlet,<br />
bites my ears numb and<br />
my feet slip on frosted leaves<br />
tipped by crystals on the Derwent’s rimed bank.<br />
Wind sculled waves spray glitter<br />
on mallards’ green-feathered backs<br />
as they swim downstream<br />
whilst speedwell skies<br />
draw deep breaths from my lungs.<br />
On woodland banks, backlit silhouettes<br />
of stripped-bare winter trees,<br />
stark black bronchioles,<br />
guard the drowsy valley at the sundown’s onset.<br />
Our walk is short,<br />
so few miles, maybe four.<br />
Just enough to warm my hand in yours.
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