Archive for March, 2015


I haven’t had much time to write anything recently as I’m in the final few months of my degree and that is taking up all my time, energy or mental resources. However I have been going to my weekly workshop and at the last one I came up with these around the theme of eclipse. I hope you enjoy them J

At once I am a storm

And the cause of the storm

I am a paradox

Causing and creating

The storm I am in

A storm of such violence and passion

It threatens to consume

Everything I know and

Spit it out so

That nothing remains

Except the light

At the end of the tunnel


As sure as the

Cow jumped over the moon

The eclipse stopped

The sun from spying

On its minions below


Like a total eclipse of the sun

I blocked out the memory of you

And the way you left behind

Your smiles festering in the

Dirty washing up that still

Remains there to this day

A thick brown sludge that

Smirks knowingly at me


Can 30 years of living

A life in a cloud filled

With droplets of acid

Be eclipsed with a drop

Of sweat falling to the earth

And showing the flower

The way to the sun…


In the final solution

The only solution

Is to eclipse all

Solutions that have

Gone before


You eclipsed my life

With the touch of

Your hand on my face

Yesterday so soft and gentle

Today destroying everything

I understand and take for granted

As your heart turns from a

Passionate, intense warmth to a

Chill that breaks bones, rips skin

And I am trapped by the fear

Of today vicious and violent

And the memories of the past

Distant and carefree


I wake up in wet grass

That rots my sweaty skin

Tears of green stained on my face

As I stare at a flock of birds

Going round and round in circles

Forever and ever as a

Thin white light pierces a leaf

Trying in vain to warm a butterfly

Through the grey chilled air

That sends my dimpled skin

Into spasms as it tries vainly

To keep warm and stop my

Mind from freezing over


The Award Winning John Foggin reminiscing

The Great Fogginzo's Cobweb

I wasn’t planning for a post this weekend, but then was reminded that a few days ago it would have been the birthday of my oldest friend, Ian, who, throughout our time at school, and for years afterwards, I called Jimmy. The last time I saw him was in June 2013, when I stayed for three days, with him and his wife Pat, in their home in Alicante. A couple of months later, he died. I wrote this for him then.

Nothing to be said
( James Ian Scott. d. August, 2013)

Invaded, occupied by multiplying
cells and the dark litanies of the names –
carcinomas, trophoblastic tumours,
melanomas – in the argot of the trade
they’ll be divided. Malignant or benign.

As if they might have consciences;
as though they had intention or design.

Brainless as weather, like hurricanes
or lightning strikes, or floods, or droughts,
they happen for…

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John Foggin weekly blog about the wonderful Keith Hutson

The Great Fogginzo's Cobweb

ancoats-c-1870

It’s grim up North. Well, bits of it undoubtedly are. As are bits of everywhere else. All through the 60’s if you watched ‘Coronation Street’ (of which more later) the opening credits reinforced an image of terraced roofs and smoking chimneys, as though Manchester had remained unchanged since this photo of Ancoats was taken in 1875, and would remain unchanged hereafter. Of course, it’s not like that. It’s not like that at all. There’s another lazy trope which goes on the lines that we live in an overcrowded island. But every Sunday night 3 or 4 million people tune in to watch ‘Countryfile’ , which may be like Blue Peter for the terminally nostalgic, but whose opening credits present a Britain from the air which is entirely rural, beautiful, and almost entirely unpopulated. It makes me feel much the same way as any flight  into Leeds/Bradford, or into Manchester….that…

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Another cracking blog from Roy Marshall

Roy Marshall

A friend asked me where my poems come from. It was easy make a list for her. They come from memories, from past or recent experience, from reading, from news stories, radio, media, real life (whatever that is,) dreams etc. They come from the walking into the shallows that before you know it become depths. I’ve got a feeling there are going to be lots of metaphors in this piece..

I thought about what it feels like to be writing a poem. Some poems come about very deliberately. There is planning involved. There is research. An idea or image appeals, and like the director of a film, I’ll steer the poem forwards, shaping it so that it resembles the idea or vision. There are often many lines edited out of the final version.

The poems that I have most enjoyed writing, (and perhaps these are also my best poems) have been…

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