Ploom #068 Faltering May Sharpe Drip tap Tick clock Heart beat Drip tap Beep chirp Heart beat Tap tick Clock beep Tick drip Heart beat Drip tap Tick clock Heart May Sharpe May Sharpe is based in the Cotswolds where she teaches in a primary school when not working on her ‘whodunnit’ novel.
Ploom #067 Cash or Card? Karen Arnold Her shop is set out in the pool of light from the standard lamp. She is dressed in Harry Potter pyjamas and a green and black witches’ hat from the dressing up box. Still warm and pink flushed from bath time. She has set out her stall on
Ploom #066 Dawn Chorus NL Whiteley Disgruntled awakewhile my lovely, sweet, charming, cherished partnersnores great honking snorts NL Whiteley NL Whiteley is an office manager from London. She started writing during Covid lockdowns and hasn’t stopped yet!
Ploom #065 My Best Friend Catherine McKinlay You’re the always-burning scented candle on my desk You’re that constant trace of peppermint or lavender You bring calm even when I don’t know I can smell you Catherine McKinlay An English teacher based in Glasgow, Catherine McKinlay has always written but fell in love with writing poetry
Ploom #064 Bluebells Ian McDonough The bluebells are out spotting the wood like a beautiful plague. And this little stream has spent all its winter water. What happened to my days? In hunting glory I missed that they were running, bright and sparkling, through my outstretched hands. But the bluebells are out spotting the wood
Ploom #063 Ragnarök Postponed Tavia Allan Fenrir the Wolf stalks into a greasy spoon on Kilburn High Road. A young woman is counting her child’s toes at the table nearest the door. An old man in a dark coat is reading a folded paper. Neither of them looks at the wolf. He addresses the shiny-faced
Ploom #062 Nae sae different Eilidh Crofton Ken at feeling? Whin ye huv the perfect buzz n ye can feel yersel sobering up, and in at moment there’s no a bigger tragedy in the wurld. Aye, so ats where we wis. We huv a small and precious windae tae redeem the situation. We’re steppin intae
Ploom #061 Weathering is what I would like to do well after Alastair Reid Anjali Ramayya You smile in the mirror, trace the stretch marks on your belly, the tapestry of stitches pricked into the finest suture line. Who knew, you say, you who always hated to sew, who knew that one day I would
Ploom #060 A Sting in the Tale Kate Leimer ‘Pssst!’ My heart sank. Someone had found me. I’d left the others packing up camp, hoping to escape the tourist chatter for five minutes on my own. Surely not much to ask: a little uninterrupted contemplation of the awe-inspiring scenery, to enjoy the silence with a
Ploom #059 Months Go By Liane McKay How odd: my old towngot cold.No drops of gold bloom.Moths on mossy schoolbooks.Old postbox, hollow.Words lost.Worlds known only to folk songs, now.No knobbly rocks.Stony knoll grown smooth,worn down from boots.Shoots trod,tomorrow’s blossom, lost.No cost. Nobody’s sorry.Nobody looks fondlyon my old town.No – don’t.Don’t stop now; go on.Don’t grow
