...oysters, growing their cold pearl hearts
where even now a stone might lodge to rub
itself into a keepsake of love...
Isn't that just lovely?
Read the rest here
and the rest of the magazine isn't half bad either.
The struggles of an emerging writer to get published. What exactly is it that I'm emerging from? Some kind of primeval literary goo?
Tweet or Email me if you're want to talk about a reading/gig/festival/workshop, a review on my blog or basically anything you want to give me for free (money works too) at
EmergingWriter AT live DOT ie
2 comments:
It is a lovely poem.
wish southword was still made from trees.
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