Exciting news! My publisher, Black Pear Press, has been working hard on my second collection, ‘Legacy’. I am delighted to announce I received the penultimate edit this morning, and the book launch is now imminent (weeks away, maybe a month or so!).
I was humbled by Lacuna’s success, thrilled it was popular, and grateful for the readership it found. More, I am deeply honoured that Black Pear Press have seen something in my poetry that has prompted them to publish a second, more lengthy collection.
Legacy sees the publication of some longer poems and a few more personal pieces, but keeps with my style of delivering mostly succinct and evocative poetry. I am extremely grateful to my editor, Polly Stretton for her dedication and friendship.
I am also grateful to my brother, Damien Davis, for his stunning cover, and to my friend, Paul F. Lenzi; for his support, guidance and kind words (see his blurb on my back cover!).
I am blessed. Truly. Thank you all for your support, I can’t wait to announce a release date.
An idyll in ideology,
your smile still lights the sky,
the magic of your memory,
you laugh where eagles fly,
and live on in our laughter,
in the friendship you fulfil,
for your heart is part
of our ever after,
and you know we love you still.
Originally posted on Poet Laureate: It is here! It is here! It is FINALLY here! The first issue of Contour was 33 pages and took 9 hours to format. I thought that experience was tough. This issue was framed before submissions closed to give me a head start on production and the poetry element has…
oakley’s first poetry collection will be launched Sunday 4 March. oakley is a poet, playwright, writer and performer from the West Midlands and the former Worcestershire Young Poet Laureate (2017) Sunday 4 March, 4pm, Drummonds Bar, The Swan With Two Nicks, 28 New Street, Worcester WR1 2DP – free entry and books will be available. oakley […]
Bind me to the sharpened tree,
the sacred sword you made of me,
tie me with my son’s insides,
poison me and more, besides,
bind me to the blade, a shade
of loathing left to die,
and empty me of laughter, fade,
where Ragnarok’s shadows lie,
for I am the poem’s final line,
the great song, absent sound,
I am the dead gods’ death, divine,
I am Loki, bound!
I return to the scene,
my heart, forever trapped
in those never ending moments
that eclipse all other memory,
the poetry of your kisses,
tickling me with whispers –
like ships that sail
I snatch specific seconds
from random reflections,
remembering the trembling,
but not whether it was adrenaline;
or the fear of not touching you