A poem about an ancient yew tree. What has it seen and experienced?
Author: Suzanne Fairless-Aitken
Suzanne Fairless-Aitken is a mum from Hexham, who was recently elected as Northumberland County Councillor & Hexham Town Councillor for the LibDems. She works for international poetry publisher, Bloodaxe Books, and also runs her own editing company, Swift Permissions. In her murky past she has been a school governor, activist and campaigner for education, green issues, anti-austerity and anti-corruption. She writes in any spare time she can find.
A poem about being ghosted by Suzanne Fairless-Aitken
The corona moon opens a watchful eye over the flock, huddled in familial groups, dotted across meadows. Blossom snows down from ice-cream cones. Snow-covered flesh snuggles into snow-covered flesh. Lanolin comforted lambs feed from tupped ewes, drained at the close of day – all marked with loyal blue. The straw -haired farmer shepherds them into […]
He always says ‘Just put a jumper on!’ – The thermostat war begins – Geordie-Mean-Time. Smells of burning pencils, crackles of nylon, Northumberland Street shows the seasonal signs. Skeletal, tinder leaves write windblown lines, In pleated polyester; patent-leather And wool-warm blazers, tape-measure tireless time. Freshers swarm the Bigg Market, denying weather. Glitt’ring schedules sparkle sequences […]
After years of the Oddsocks Christmas Panto, The Queen’s Hall in Hexham, recently bucked the trend by commissioning their own offering with a seasonal play A Viking Christmas – neatly tied into the Hexham’s Festival of Flame in 2019. The product was a beautiful Geordie story – weaving in Northumbrian myths and legends to our […]
On shingled shores of Loch Fyne Reflected through rock pools of time, Spewed from the bowels of the planet Titan’s marbles slung in granite Cushioned amid bruised heather, Cirrus sweeps as a feather Over Arran’s caldera looming large; An old god, re-forged. Gentle tides abandon jellyfish In this wild petri-dish, Shrinkwrapping surrounding shells, water evaporates […]
The baker’s shop, an oven, a single ember, Igniting something from nothing. Heat from hot, from not, Room zero becomes inferno. Freezing-fire from an old Hotpoint A cold spark of faulty friction A random lightning strike In the tinder box of unrest. Two smouldering summers, centuries apart. One city consumed by fiery rage. Pudding Lane […]
When we were young they just went to waste, a bit too exotic for council-estate tastes. From the tropics to the suburbs via Bookless & Co. we loved lifting them up and letting them go, smashing to the ground the sound made us smile, ruby entrails smeared on faces TISWAS style. Sitting on the doorstep […]
Not the Armitage poem, more a Beckett play, staged in rows like The Muppet Shows. Am in some kind of digital purgatorio – or Waiting Room – as it is known. Pondering background choices: Smart – bookshelves Witty – a pub Serious – black-framed Art Lockdown breach – Barnard Castle. Anything but the spare-room drums. […]
Remembered rhymes whispered on winds,
with tradition and superstition skimmed,
Morality forged in iron-aged bones,
where Smithys extract swords from stones.
Scalloped pink-velvet rises,
Dolby surrounds and amplifies
the trailers begin,
couples conjoin in love-seats,
and the stranger in C7 is not alone.
Together, to gather
whenever the weather
rises seven degrees
the voracious bees
leaze merry the meadow
in glorious glissando.
Bae you are so…BOOM! Fo’sho, and make me all so lit I want to fly you to the moon and live our best-life, like, innit? In other words hold my hand, In other words darling kiss me Drop the final F from BFF to one…no more. You are pure mint, sick, v swag, […]
Feels like love
Teeth biting through
The swim in the Tyne is all mine, all mine,
no-bodies bobbing about; my time.
Between poppy-splashed fields of wheat,
ancient alders and elders meet,
draping limbs soothe the surface
creating a primitive place,
Escaping the final harvest,
haunting a lichen-limbed nest,
the ghost apple hangs transparent
where once branches bent
laden with wanton fruit,
swollen to a pregnant glut.
In real terms £400m is a proverbial drop in the ocean and so our cultural capital as a society is in real danger of ultimately being lost to those who can afford it, be allowed to contribute to it and therefore own it. Without arts or culture our worldview narrows – because they give us the vital experience of knowing thoughts beyond those in our own heads and famously enable us to ‘walk around in someone else’s shoes’ (To Kill a Mockingbird).
Aching, longing, yearning
for a brush past, a touch
of surfaces – much more
than a waterproof
or soft container.
Once or twice in a generation an era-defining TV series comes along, and Channel 4’s It’s a Sin is a contender for just that. The five-part drama. set in London between 1981 and 1991 to an iconic -pumping soundtrack of Lennox, Blondie, Queen, Erasure, Almond and of course the title track – moves us along with a group of gay friends through their wild parties and ultimate journey of self-discovery while they explore their sexuality and emerging careers.
to the final stair,
Frozen H20 floats immiscible on ponds As blades score surface with festive bonds. Snowflake fractals float upon a breeze Defying gravity, concealing lost leaves. Ilex aquafolium bleeds a hoary frost, waxy cuticle, cloaks shivers – no water is lost. Satsuma segments of time zones split and the world’s turn slows on the axis as tinselly-string […]
Gathering garlands I forage
for fronds of evergreen
to make eternal circles
There’s a Robin in the meadow,
Nocturnal soloist in darkest night
Sing your song, as notes fade to dark
but burn bright, with breast alight.
After centuries of conflict
weapons are finally downed.
The cruellest disease has silenced guns,
until a vaccine can be found.
yes man, yes man, three bags full of grass
Where you been lass?
You ate what? From a stranger?
Beware, beware the Trumpywump His skin is orange, he likes to pump, His teeny hands rub rounded tum And words come out of mouth and bum. The little white house in a deep, dark wood, Was where the Trumpywump lived, and he was not good. He was a mischievous redcap of goblin breed and on […]
On the banks of the Thames Between Vauxhall and Ranelagh Big Ben strikes for the masked ball. Welcome to the Pleasure Gardens one and all! A Parliament of Fouls in a world-upside-down, Carnal carnivalesque, Masquerading as government The Lords of Misrule hail Clown Prince Boris, See his gilded masque, bumbling persona, How jolly, how funny, […]
As the drama at the heart of Northumberland County Council continues to unfold, the enormity of the potential scandal may yet be revealed in full. It seemed to start when Chief Executive Daljit Lally was unexpectedly put on ’extended leave’ earlier this month. Prior to this decision, Lally had been worried about possible bias from […]