Poetry Basket Review

Hello, Poetry Lovers Welcome back to the Poetry Basket Review.

Now, you may have seen that I’ve featured the terrific poet, Trisha Broomfield a few times. So I think it’s a natural progression to actually review her latest collection When Peter Sellers Came to Tea. This is Trisha’s third book, and her previous collections are The Equator & Other Disappointments, and Husbands for Breakfast. These are all worth a read. Wonderful pieces – detailed, nostalgic and so very poignant. A real insight into life and human situations.

Read on for a cracking review

When Peter Sellers Came to tea

By Trisha Broomfield

This exquisite collection of 40 detailed poems, makes compulsive reading.  Stirring our hearts in its nostalgia, humour and pathos.  Yet, despite nostalgic overtones, there are still issues that are as razor sharp today.

A third collection from prolific poet Trisha Broomfield, and her work just gets stronger.  We welcome these poems, as so many of us have lived through these situations, past and present.

We are embraced with Quaking in Queensland that deals with the trauma of an earthquake, yet it is still taken on in family spirit and humour.  Another classic family situation is Sizzling Fillets when the Hyphen-Jones pay a visit.  Haven’t we all cowed under such scrutiny from illustrious company?  And haven’t we also fallen back on our old friend Fray Bentos?!

Innards and Gizzards strikes a very strong chord, I hankered for that same Mary Quant lipstick – (they were stunning, weren’t they?), only to be thwarted and finally turning to the Rimmel section. 

Cinematic Experience takes us in a similar vein and makes us taste that very weak Kia-Ora once again.  Funny how that drink was almost compulsory, despite the impractical straws.  What’s more, this piece shares the memory of the rough romance and seedy glamour of that institution. 

The title poem When Peter Sellers Came to Tea is a romantic recollection and an account of meeting the man himself.  It also brings comfort in later life.  Beautiful piece conveying what might have been. 

A personal favourite is A Good Brew with its touching and tender account of that immortal  drink – tea, and the situations it has got us through.  The poet illustrates so well that with every family drama and tumult, there is a cup of tea brewing.  So much to the point that it’s even used for a final resting place.  Such a poignant ending.

Your Yellow Shirt takes us to the significance of a faded old photo, and those treasures and pain that they can hold for us.  Not to mention having to wait for the image to come back to you in the first place!  Beautifully done. 

The heart wrenching You Are Invited stays with us.  The strong detail and emotion will make the most cynical reader stir with this moving and painful account.

The wistful Happy Untogether – what might have been?  Or simply this is our situation? The stoicism of the couple’s lot is moving.    Whatever form the reader will like to take it, it’s says so very much between the text. 

Another personal favourite is Golden Shoes, especially the reference to Pond’s Cold Cream.  And who doesn’t have memories of their mother going out for the evening, kissing you goodnight while you’re in bed?  Trisha puts over that wonderment and forlornness.   Such faded glamorous memories. 

Another defining poem that I love is Princess, with vivid material and descriptions of a certain era and topped with the splendid Hawkwind.  This is a dream piece. 

The amazing Magic with the loneliness of a stripper, scores many points with its sordid atmospheres and human nature, and the mention of the fantastic Billy Swann.  Excellent! 

That Party carries a sensual wistfulness and former longing, and Having Kittens so intricately details a bedsit in Bethnal Green and a very significant visitor.  A hue of emotions hangs over every word.  Creping is disturbing in that it gives us the ultimate question while acknowledging how time and age will be quite brutal, and will take over in a blink of an eye.  How it can truly creep up on us.  Making up the Hours on this similar vein is so tangible and bitter-sweet. 

The End of the Book is such a fitting climax and goes at a great pace, in a collection full of these same virtues.  The surreal telling of the story was a book in itself. 

I highly recommend this collection, and word has it that Trisha Broomfield will be publishing again soon.  I can hardly wait!      

Treat yourself to Trisha’s book When Peter Sellers Came to Tea, available from Dempsey & Windle Publishing on http://www.dempseyandwindle.com.

Thanks for tuning in, PL’s. We’ll be back shortly with more poetry capers!

Boys and Pubs……

Hello, Poetry Lovers,

Not sure which way round that title should go…..Pubs and Boys? Boys and Pubs? There was an era when they went hand in hand. I didn’t ever get the boy I fancied though, yet all my mates did! Where was the justice in that?!

This picture of me above, appropriately, was taken at the iconic French House in Soho. However, our local pub was much lower profile than that, and I couldn’t envisage any Soho bohemians going through the doors of the Queens Arms. Good-looking blokes did though……..

This is quite an old poem, do read on…..

 

Boys…..

In the pub, Julie liked a boy, sitting by the fag

machine

But me and Sue didn’t fancy his mates

so she was on her own!

Then Sue gets off with a nice boy called Paul,

and I was out on a limb – again!

Why didn’t I ever get a boy I fancied?

What did I do that was so wrong?

And here I am, making awkward

conversation with someone called

Mike.

Two spare parts together. 

While his pal Dave snogs Julie like

his life depends on it. 

He’s so gorgeous, and I wished

that was me, feeling his breath on

my skin. 

Sue has left the pub with Paul.

I long to ask her if it’s as wonderful 

as they say?

Mike takes my hand in his and

I snatch it away. 

I want to go home, but I’m buggered if Mike’s

coming with me. 

I pretend to go the bog, then slip out the main

door.

I should have gone to the pictures instead!

Heather Moulson 2017

There you have it, PL’s, many a Saturday night was spent walking home in the rain, unaccompanied. That’s how I remember it anyway. So, when constant Saturday nights in as a result of Lockdown get on your nerves, think how much worse and lonely it could have been in that local pub.

Thanks for tuning in, Poetry Lovers. Now, to give Dobby her supper. Tune in real soon for more poetry action…..

Lockdown – the Good Side

Hello Poetry Lovers

Now don’t faint! I am actually addressing a contemporary issue instead of looking back as usual. You can hardly avoid these current times and lockdown, but I’ve made a bloomin’ good attempt!

For this issue, however, I will embrace it – or at least the wonderful poet Trisha Broomfield will. Fantastic Lockdown piece, showing us all the positive side of this unique and bizarre era. Fabulous reading.

Here’s a portrait of the poet herself, Trisha.

So, read on for this very personal and detailed poem….

Who and what got me through Lockdown

That jolly poet/artist Heather

those cheery girls from fab Bucks Leather

chatting with my dear chum Kirsty

countless cups of dark strong tea,

recording my own poetry.

Modelling clothes in my back yard

was fun, not even vaguely hard.

Zooming verse that was so new,

reading mine for all to view.

Walking very early, daily

greeting other walkers gaily

growing carrots, spuds and beans

living in my oldest jeans.

Live chats with my dearest sis

from my hubby, hugs and kiss(es)

that got me through.

Writing stories about people who

like me were caged in, in a zoo,

yoga helped to keep me supple,

the gift of living in a bubble.

Making soup in great big vats

talking to the neighbour’s cats,

watching calm Professor Whitty,

not giving in to much self-pity.

Reading chapters, stories, verse

from writer friends, who’re not averse

to editing the ones I send

suggestions of what I should amend,

Painting, sketching reading crime

scrubbing at the household grime.

Meeting Celia for coffee

who was fed up, bored as me,

we were brave and sat outside

gave others a berth quite wide.

Clapping for the NHS

eating chocolate to excess,

phoning friends from far and wide

knowing we’re on the self same side.

Sitting in my pal’s green acres

breathing countryside and spaces.

Gifts of eggs, more mugs of tea

beeswax from some local bees,

making face creams, in job lots

coming out in big red spots.

All of the above and more

have seen me through this viral chore.

Trisha Broomfield 2020

Wasn’t that just amazing?

Hands up who have embraced these things! I know I have. Not so hot on scrubbing household grime though – nor have I attempted soup for some years (my vegetable attempt was not to die for!). Otherwise, Trisha’s account struck a tender chord. Any other lockdown poems welcome.

Bless you, Trisha, thank you so much.

That’s all we’ve got time for, PL’s. I want to see those Lockdown poems flooding in….

Tune in for more poetry antics, same time, same channel……

The Dolls House

Why are dollshouses so sinister yet so alluring? Their very presence and loneliness makes us come to all sorts of conculsions. Yet (most of us) love them…

Here is a poem I have penned about the haunting aura of a dollshouse and its inhabitants. I remember being so frustrated as a child that they didn’t notice me, or look at me. I was excluded from their very small existence.

In the Dollshouse

Plastic Mum and Dad stare stonily ahead,

they don’t see me at all.

I urge them to look at me

as they sit by a fireplace

that doesn’t bring warmth.

Why don’t you see me?

They don’t care who I am,

I can’t be let in on their secrets.

And their thoughts stay private.

A tiny kettle by a lifeless cooker,

that never boils, stands next to a

sink which doesn’t get wet.

A bathroom next door, where the

toilet won’t ever flush.

A baby who doesn’t cry,

lies naked in a blue cot.

I put the parents on their hard bed

– and urge them to find sleep.

But their eyes never close, they

simply look through me.

Their limbs hard and cold, they

can’t take off their painted-on clothes.

I put a tiny blanket over them

but they don’t get warm.

I abandon them

when it’s time for tea.

Now, that brought a shiver up my spine. I’ve had dollshouses and plastic people for years, yet that made me cold. I guess these figures will never tell us anything.

Feel free to send in any toy poems yourselves. I’ll rummage through the poetry cupboard too.

There’s bound to be more spooky toys – I’m of that generation!

Thank you for tuning in, PL’s. More poetry action real soon…..

Zooming ………

Lumme, Poetry Lovers! So much Zoom going on at the moment….

Had a wonderful poetry Zoom last Thursday with Write Out Loud – then a breather till Sunday!

Then on Sunday at 4 pm, I watched Live from the Butchery hosted by the wonderful Martin Figura. Tip top readers!

Then our very own Virtual Poetry Performance straight afterwards, featuring the magnificent Math Jones…..

Followed by a detailed review the next day, typed up by Dobby….

Then on Tuesday night, it was virtual Poetry with the 1,000 Monkeys aka Donall & Janice………

Phew! The following night was also Dempsey & Windle, and I read at a poetry collection launch by the gifted and clever Ranald Barnicot…….

Phew! I’m getting square eyes. Reminds me of watching too much telly! (Didn’t our Mum’s warn us about that!) So a bit of a rest from that.

Zoom still isn’t really welcome, it’s still regarded with mistrust, but it is a way of keeping us together and our art alive!

Thanks for tuning in, PL’s. Dobby and I will be back for more poetry shenanigans real soon……..

Bonfire Night…..

Yes, Poetry Lovers, it’s that event of the year. They say there’s beautiful fireworks out there, but I have to take their word for it. I’m busy having my hands over my ears, and snuggling in with Dobby. Always loathed it – especially bangers. So, to show my displeasure, I have penned an anti-Guy Fawkes night poem.

Read on if you dare…

Bonfire Night

Fireworks burning bright

at 6 o’clock at night.

Freezing against the cold night air,

they say they’re pretty but I don’t care.

They’re obnoxious and way too loud,

and any sparkler draws a crowd,

to whom I wouldn’t give the time of day.

I wish they all would go away.

A stuffed figure in orange flames,

I don’t want to play these games.

You can keep your potatoes in their jackets,

and all the other crap in little packets.

I’d much rather be warm at home,

I wish those fireworks would leave me alone!

Thanks for looking, Poetry Lovers. I’ll be back soon with more poetry japes. Same time, same channel…..

Review – Poetry Performance Online

Well, last night we had the second virtual Poetry Performance evening, bringing Poetry at the Adelaide into our own homes. A great success.

Hosted by the vibrant Clive Rowland, we had a full programme of original and innovative poetry. Starting with the clever John Sephton with two small and classy poems Blue Notes and Expecting to Fly. The latter being a surreal love song.

This was followed by PP regular Carol Wain with an acrostic poem Familiarity. Strong and poignant, Carol

Dressing the part was another prolific regular Andrew Evzona, in full Halloween garb. Creating a great atmosphere, his poems included the very touching Home Address. A moving and innovative account of the family home.

Relative newcomer Bob Kimmerling blew us away with his beautifully detailed and vivid work including I watched my Father dig

Clever Heather Montford read two poems by the late, and much missed, Frances White. One of them being the beautiful Damsons and Dahlias – with the incredible description – Film Star Kisses – what an amazing line!

We were delighted to see Tom McColl with The Phoney War, which has the saddest and moving last line. Then the relatively new The Usual Address. Fascinating and compulsive, Tom. Please come back next time.

And welcome back to Tony Josolyne with the strong and vivid Rambling.

This brought us to the break where I kicked off a discussion on poetry titles after reading notices ie Roger McGough poetry competition – closing date 7th December 2020, so still time to enter!!

Then a climatic atmosphere as our featured poet Math Jones was introduced. A very welcome return, his last appearance was at the Adelaide in 2018. Been too long, Math! A big, big welcome back to you!

Math read some beautiful pieces. A poet who really goes from strength to strength. Catch his Facebook live streams – they’re quite something!

Math entranced us with five amazing pieces – my own favourite being The Midwife, haunting, striking and so razor sharply articulated.

Look up the fascinating recent interview I carried out with the amazing Math. Worth a look…..

Math’s set was cleverly chosen for the season with communications from ancestors, fairies and incantations drawn from folklore, that verged towards the intense and remarkable. Stunning poems, Math, well done. We knew you’d come up with the goods!

Followed by a strong Q&A led by Clive. It was great to see the two of them back together again on that virtual sofa!

A good start to the second half, with the talented Pat Cammish performing Grandmama’s Tale. Beautifully read, Pat.

The original and enigmatic Robin Clarke followed with The Family – a clear account and reflection that was so true, it was almost uncomfortable!!

Fran Thurling’s incredibly detailed They’re Selling the Old Farm House was next, a poignant telling of a family home. More delights from Connaire Kensit with Stepping Stones containing colourful childhood memories. A stunner, Connaire!

Then our very own Poetry Performance founder, Anne Warrington performed a wonderful piece Oh, the Joys of Teaching, vividly reflecting on her experience as a teacher.

Ruthless poet Heather Moulson came up next with Happy Families – a loaded card game, revealing reflections on that timeless and frustrating card game. Then Longing, part of a trilogy that just needs the third piece to be written!

Ruthless and ambiitious – will walk over anyone to get what she wants. Best to be avoided!

The lovely Barbara Lee was an apt climax for a great evening. Barbara kept to the family poem theme and gave an explosive and traumatic account of her own family life. Powerful and thought-provoking, Barbara. Well done.

Drained and elated from Poetry Performance’s successful evening, we look forward to the next virtual session on Sunday 6th December, hosted by Heather Montford.

Of course, we’d rather be back upstairs at the Adelaide, but at least Zoom – which seems to be in it for the duration – will bond us together during this bizarre and unique period of history.

Thank you everyone. We’ll meet again soon.

Thank you for tuning in, Poetry Lovers. We’ll return shortly for a Bonfire Night theme! Same time, same channel…….

Halloween II

Hello, Poetry Lovers. My two lovely poet pals have accepted my challenge and came up with more wonderful Halloween pieces. And they’re fabulous!

Here are pictures of that glamorous pair – Trisha Broomfield and Sharron Green. Read on…….

And witches fly……..

by Trisha Broomfield 2020

They tell me it’s the night that

witches fly,

I duck my head and hurry

home as darkness falls,

the sky at once from light

to dark

there is no dusk in a

Queensland park.

Fear Festival

by Sharron Green

The haunted house

is screaming doom

as witches spittle

in the gloom.

Plague rats are primed,

cobwebs are draped,

Bleached vampires fanged

and velvet caped.

Gaunt ghosts are coughing,

dragging chains

while graves lay waiting

for remains.

Bat blood is curdling

in a pool,

the temperature

is far from cool.

So will kids still shout

“Trick or Treat?”

and dare they knock

to swipe a sweet?

The stage is set

for Halloween,

this year’s the scariest

we’ve seen.

@rhymes_n_roses

Weren’t they amazing?! A prize wings their way to both of them. Happy Halloween to everybody, and thanks for watching.

Tune in same time, same channel for more poetry antics….

Halloween!!

Hello, Poetry Lovers. So, Halloween is looming, eh?

I’ve taken the liberty of penning two poems about this certain night. The first is in the style of Pam Ayres, and the second is – er – in my style really…. Well, read on…..

halloween, you’re such a bore!

Trick or Treater’s at my door

Out with fun-size sweets I go

Recently purchased from big Tesco

A kid with a cape and witches’ hat

Says that my offering’s not all that

Now listen here, you ungrateful snitch

All I did on Halloween was draw a witch!

I‘d have loved to have been a trick or treater

But the only thing on Halloween was Blue Peter!

And I never got a badge, I sigh

The kids bid a nervous goodbye!

They all leg it into the night,

My fun-sized treats gone from sight.

(Luckily they were on special offer!)

October 1968

Coal black night where witches fly

“Can I come with you, aye bye and bye”

Grey skies on a school afternoon

they say witches fly right to the moon

But what IS Halloween?!

Conkers lay dead on the ground

come now, you’re home safe and sound

shall I draw you a nice pumpkin pie?

Americans don’t eat them, that’s pie in the sky!

But what IS Halloween?!

Teacher shouty and brash

school dinners with corned beef hash

Friday afternoon I’ll draw her a witch

but Mrs Ross’s a bad-tempered old bitch

But what IS Halloween?!

She’ll love her favourites Maxine and Pat’s

mine will get a glance and that’s

that. I’ll take it home, hope for the best

that Mum will take the slightest interest

But what IS Halloween?!

This question actually comes from my lips

Mum says shuttup and eat your chips!

no-one cares less about stupid Halloween

witches don’t exist, this is bloody obscene

It’s actually the eve of All Saints Day

now for chrissakes go and play!

But what IS Halloween?!

Wasn’t that a hoot?! Do submit any yourselves! What fun!

Thanks for tuning in, I’ll be back for more poetry antics – same time, same channel……

Bath Night…..

Hello, Poetry Lovers. Today we feature a stunning and nostalgic poem from the lovely and talented Trisha Broomfield.

Badedas on Bath Night will hold many memories of that one night of the week. Once again we’ll inhale that classy Badedas. Still the best really, but it’s the Coal Tar soap that really brings back the bathroom for me. I still buy it when I can…… Anyway, read on….

Badedas on Bath Night

Cuticura talc and coal tar soap,

Badedas on bath night

a trail of foot prints across the hall,

water soaking sisal,

transistor radio balanced on discarded clothes,

tights wrapped round water pipes,

hair dried by two bar fire,

eyebrows plucked to threads

in time for bed, quilted dressing gowns,

plastic rollers stabbing into scalps,

Ashes of Roses, candlewick, radio Caroline

posters peeled from papered walls,

Cupid’s Inspiration, the first LP I’d ever own

and through the painted window frames

the dream of romance never to be known.

Trisha Broomfield 2020

Wasn’t that just wonderful? Which of that lovely piece brought the sharpest memory? Definitely for me was the drying of hair over that two bar fire, it’s a wonder how many of us are still alive! Health & Safety would not like that!! And those candlewick bedspreads – I think I had a green one. Fabulous, Trisha, bless you for that.

I’ve tagged a glamorous picture of Trisha at the end there – I think the middle one resembles me!! I can’t believe how I’d sleep in those things.

Thank you for tuning in, PL’s. More poetry antics and japes soon……..