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Poet's
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Maggie
Sullivan's Page
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Maggie Sullivan
is the Poet in Residence at Poet's Letter Magazine for July 2006
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Page of the Poet in Residence @
Poet's Letter
Maggie Sullivan
Photo
Credit: Simon Green
Hi everybody! I’m delighted to have
been asked to be Poet in Resident for the Poet’s Letter during July and hope
this page proves fruitful for those logging on; a little inspiration. I’ve
been an avid reader of poetry from an early age but only began writing in my
late twenties. Since then it’s been a long haul, to shape the instinct to
write into work that finds a resonance and acceptance with a wider readership,
learning from a host of other poets and peers. My poems have been
published in Smiths Knoll, Rialto, nth position, Obsessed with Pipework, the
Affectionate Punch and The Poets Letter, and I have been a featured poet for The
Tall Lighthouse. It’s been great to see the work begin to find a home ‘out
there’ but what I enjoy most is that moment when the thread of a new poem
appears, to grasp it and see what emerges, often surprising even me. My
approach is to write fast once I’m on the trail of a poem, and capture its
essence, then I spend ages refining and revisiting the work until it settles to
the shape it wants to be. I have a particular liking for the short poem,
simply put but tightly focused.
I thought I’d begin
the month by offering up a selection of poems concerning childhood and invite
readers to use that as a theme in their own work currently. A few hints
and tips to get the imagination going: imagine you are five, or ten again;
Where are you, at home, school? What are the smells, noises and
conversations going on around you? Try to capture them.
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March
Poet in Residence 2007: Helen Long
April
Poet in Residence 2007: Alan McKean
May
Poet in Residence 2007: Kerry-Fleur Schleifer
June Poet in
Residence 2007: David Mclean
June Poet in Residence Tricia Peak
July Poet in Residence
Maggie Sullivan
Visit the Page of March (2006) Poet in
Residence Alan Buckley's Page
Poets
in Residence @ 3rd London Poetry Festival 2007
Briony
Dennis
Inua Ellams
Juli
Jeana
Tom Chivers
Tricia
Peak
Poet's Letter Beowulf Poetry Prize is Launched
The largest Poetry Competition in the UK and probably in the world is
launched with prizes totalling £17,000. Judges of Poet's Letter Beowulf
Poetry Prize are: David Morley, George Wallace and
Munayem
Mayenin.
To Enter or to know
more.
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The Poet's Letter Books Accepting Submissions
Would like to pay
HALF PRICE for The Poet's Letter
Magazine Poetry Performances and at The Second London Poetry Festival 2006
Tickets?
Join Friend of The Poet's Letter.
Poet's Letter Second London Poetry Festival 2006:
14th August @ RADA
Poet's Letter
Web Directory
Add Your Links Here for Free
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Dormant
I was wrapped in a blanket of flame,
rocked by a volatile hand,
hurled into the world
on a tide of lava,
childhood was searing quicksand.
I’ve tried to ride
the sulphurous ash of memory,
put a lid on the past
but the sides crack under the pressure,
ooze nuclear hurt
from the third degree burn
deep in my centre.
You wouldn’t know by looking,
I’m ice on the surface.
Best to tread carefully,
don’t touch on trust.
Primary colours
What she remembers most
is the out of bounds,
spotless,
pink, chintz settee
and sitting very still
covered in chicken pox
and calamine lotion,
told ‘Not to scratch
because it will leave scars.’
She tried hard not to
but a body can take only so much
calamine lotion or silt up entirely,
the red itch rising.
Simple Simon
Poor kid, rejection after rejection.
No penny, no pie,
scant water.
Only a sieve,
a thistle
and a blister of pain
to mark his ‘goodbye.’
It can’t have been a fond farewell,
not simple at all.
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Baby food
They named her Honey.
She stuck a finger in her mouth
to get the taste,
grew up sweet and curvy.
The page three headline read
Everyone’s favourite flavour.
They all got a piece
but eating spoiled her figure.
half-starved, Honey came home,
sucked to the bone,
to the marrow.
Frame
A square cut fringe,
grey pleated skirt,
button up blouse,
a book, open, and a pen.
Now, smile for the camera.
A regular school photograph
but not quite –
she sits at right angles,
tight lipped,
her preferred hand hidden from view
we can’t see what she’s writing,
the close up
and long shot.
Noughts and crosses
I play the game on my flesh
with needle, knife, razor blade,
a broken bottle,
all the love poured out.
They stitch me up,
dress my arms in bandages
I can’t help but unwind,
relive the scarred grid of skin.
Three in a row, isn’t it, to win?
I slash, horizontally, vertically, diagonally.
This little piggy
You could put a child out of step
with life, naming toes for pigs:
stories at bedtime,
bacon next morning for breakfast. |
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