July 11, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Benjamin Davies



Paul Brookes



Death Is


solid. My son never complains


he can’t walk through walls or people.

He dies only with wishes not to become


the shadow of a building or street furniture


recycling or public bin, lamppost, unwanted old sofa or bed.


Better to be people’s shadow as he leaves this world,

then find himself with skin, breath and blood


where before floated as air, as mist as we do.

Soon whatever he becomes in death.


as his Dad and Mam we will move through him

and he may not even know we do so.


And if he does we will be ghosts to him.

Perhaps he’ll recall his time as a ghost.




A Wreath Laid


I pick out dead

curled leaves, Sycamore

blades bleed brown

on new white gravel

in frame around your stone.


Slanted rain in wintered sun

dust motes from above,

daylight star flicker.

Nestle bright red Christmas

decoration between stone

and wall, berried wreath

beside it, and say “Your great

granddaughter, granddaughter,

and daughter will call tomorrow

with your grandkids”


And breath is a brief ghost.






Paul Brookes

Paul Brookes was shop assistant, security guard, postman, admin. assistant, lecturer, poetry performer, with “Rats for Love”, his work included in “Rats for Love: The Book”, Bristol Broadsides, 1990. First chapbook was “The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley”, Dearne Community Arts, 1993. Read his work on BBC Radio Bristol, had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live. Recently published in Clear Poetry, Nixes Mate, Live Nude Poems, The Bezine, The Bees Are Dead and others.

Forthcoming this summer is an illustrated chapbook called “The Spermbot Blues” published by OpPRESS, and tentatively in autumn “The Headpoke” illustrated chapbook published by Alien Buddha Press.

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