In Praise of Local Dialect

by Catherine Graham

It’s a mystery, maybe just a mystery to me

why a poet would want to lose their local accent,

ditch dialect words learned at their grandmother’s knee.

Maybe it’s nothing more than the aroma of snobbery.

Whatever the reason and however well meant,

it’s a mystery, maybe just a mystery to me.

I’ve a fancy it’s more an English thing, you see.

Would Shakespeare in his ‘winter of discontent’

ditch dialect words learned at their grandmother’s knee?

I’ll never do it, go all la-di-da, trust me!

Or maybe we all do at times, to some extent.

It’s a mystery, maybe just a mystery to me

why there are poets, you may or may not agree,

so keen to get published are quite content

to ditch dialect words learned at their grandmother’s knee.

I’ll not write poems just to please the bourgeoisie,

wilderness-grey words that crumble like clay or cement.

It’s a mystery, maybe just a mystery to me.

Ditch dialect words learned at my grandmother’s knee?

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Catherine Graham grew up in Newcastle on Tyne in NorthEast England where she still lives. Her poetry has been published in magazines and anthologies in the UK, USA and Ireland including The Stony Thursday Book as well poems published online. Her awards include the Northern Voices Poetry Award, The Northumberland Writers Award and The Jo Cox Poetry Prize. Catherine has read her poetry on BBC Radio 4 as well as on local BBC radio. She is the author of three poetry collections.

Her pamphlet Like A Fish Out Of Batter is published by Indigo Dreams Publishing and is inspired by the work of artist L. S. Lowry. Catherine writes, “I was drawn to Lowry’s work because the people in his paintings could be my own proud working-class family.” Catherine has read at numerous poetry festivals and events including the The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, The Durham Literature Festival, Northern Stage, The Liverpool International Poetry Festival and a number of Amnesty International Poetry Benefits. Catherine’s latest poems and recordings are available in the free-to-download online anthology  I Sing, Therefore I Am over at carerspoetry.org 

Stacks

by Kim Ports Parsons

I heard a story once about a woman trapped in the past

because she wouldn’t read the news of the day

until she finished with the day before, and soon

one day became two, then three, then a month,

then a year, until she was living decades before. 

No one had the heart or nerve or strength

to break the hours into their rightful slots

for her, to name the day’s events and spoil

the plot for her. The clock, for her, had slowed,

spun backward, and shifted gears, clicked

at the speed of her will. She sat ensconced

among stacks of the yellowing world.

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Kim Ports Parsons grew up near Baltimore, earned degrees, and worked in education for thirty years. Now she lives near Shenandoah National Park, writes, gardens, walks, and volunteers for Cultivating Voices LIVE Poetry. Her poems appear in many publications, including Skylight 47, LIVE ENCOUNTERS, and Vox Populi and have been nominated for a Pushcart. Her first collection, The Mayapple Forest (Terrapin Books 2022), was a finalist for the North American Book Award, sponsored by the Poetry Society of Virginia.

The Hermit

by Cormac Culkeen

Inquiring knocks still him

like a mouse in open grass

beneath a hawk’s shadow

shifting on thermals,

where cold lamp light  

gathers night damp rooms,

growing dust into 

his daily path.

Curtains latch lying windows,

folds of drawing fabric swing

watching aged moments

pass into never,

floormap layers of newspaper,

accretions marking past’s mould,

where brief conceit

did immerse worlds.

Slowly, another knock moves him

through his curt, ancient trail,

his listening chair,

his mumbling radio,

where infinity becomes a stifle

of small gestures glimpsed unseen,

a stained mug,

a kettle’s hiss.

Rheumy squints through glasses

bring him a sleeved arm,

some tuneless whistling

stills his pulse

movement muted to breath

seeing quieter figures shrink,

rain strums upon

fading steps.

Shadows melt in the panes

shuffle from its rivet gaze.

Recognising a stasis,

spokes of sunlight

drop through curtain depths,

seeds of light’s silence

angling for pause,

touch his hands.

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Cormac Culkeen is a writer of poetry, fiction, short stories and nonfiction. He lives in Galway, Ireland, and has completed an MA in Writing at the University of Galway, after completing a BA in Creative Writing. His poetry has been published in Skylight 47, The Wild Word, Causeway, Apricot Press, Bindweed, Ropes Literary Journal and The Honest Ulsterman. His debut poetry collection, The Boy with the Radio, was recently published by Beir Bua Press in 2022.