The prompt for this episode was rule-making and/or rule breaking, an idea which occurred to me after reading a sonnet sequence by Claire Cox and reading her account of how the poems were generated by a set of rules she had set herself. Jack Nicholls, an an up and coming poet and playwright, could be described as a rule bender or breaker. Certainly, his poems play with the reader's expectations. He talks here about his poetry path and reads some of his poems. We also have poems by Helen Hall, Sean Burke, Anne Bailey, Philippa Ramsden, Claire Cox, Derek Sellen, Claire Parker and Trisha Broomfield.
Jack Nicholls' poems have most recently been published in Poetry Review, PN Review, The Spectator, Stand, and The Rialto. He has twice been a prizewinner in the National Poetry Competition, placing third in 2020 and receiving a commendation in 2023. His pamphlet, "Meat Songs", is published by The Emma Press. His plays have received rehearsed readings at the Royal Court Theatre, London, and his first short film, "Nettle Day", premieres this year at Manchester Film Festival. He hosts and produces the Manchester-based comedy night, Title Fight.
Helen Hall
Gisèle Pelicot
I have decided not to be ashamed
as footage of my rape is shown in court,
my lifeless, choking body shown in court.
He saw me as a garbage bag, a doll,
a rag doll to be used by shameless men.
‘Not rape,’ they said, ‘her husband gave consent.
He gave consent - he invited us
to use her – we’ve done nothing wrong.’
Those ordinary men did nothing wrong –
that brother, neighbour, Monsieur Tout-Le-Monde.
So, Monsieur Tout-Le-Monde, let’s start to talk
about consent, respect, about your guilt.
Trashed women – we have seized the power now –
We have decided not to be ashamed.
Scar
Female surgeons sexually assaulted while operating
There is a pattern of female trainees being abused by senior male colleagues, happening now, in NHS hospitals.
BBC Report September 2023
The wound festers and will not heal,
a thick scar forms, red with pain.
The notes report a faultless operation
by a respected surgeon.
No complications.
In this jungle, hunters are camouflaged
in green cotton gowns.
Skilful hands, healing hands,
entitled hands
exert their mastery here.
Adrenaline and sweat pulse and bloom
under blazing lights.
A patient lies on the table,
consent form filed,
eyes taped shut.
As I suture the skin he leans over
watching me
erection hard
spreading my buttocks
beneath sterile scrubs.
Nobody says anything.
I look at their faces but nobody speaks.
Helen Hall is a poet based in Oxfordshire. She completed a Diploma in Creative Writing at Oxford University in 2024. A retired GP, Helen worked in the NHS for forty years. She has been previously published in Snakeskin, Lighten Up Online and was longlisted for the 2023 New Writers Poetry competition. |
Sean Burke
Seven Things I Learned From Cormac McCarthy
Keep the bore of your weapon clean.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Surgery can be accomplished
with the poorest of means.
A horse, a hat, and a handful of beans
suffice, when push comes to shove.
Our best intentions kindle fires
that consume the ones we love.
You can’t escape the Furies
though you are doomed to try.
You survive, you ride on, then you die.
The Dying House
You must negotiate the rooms of The Dying House
in an order which we trust will become apparent.
As you accompany the guests, you may meet
poets and their poetry. Hear them out
then remind them, politely if possible,
that this is neither the time nor the place.
Try not to be disheartened by parents with children
especially if you are a parent with a child.
There may be residual traces of parties and celebrations:
we apologise - this is a multi-purpose location.
While every care has been taken for your comfort
you may feel ill at ease, for which we claim no responsibility.
Sean Burke is a Scottish-born teacher, writer and musician living in Milan, Italy. His work has been published in Orbis, Cake and Squawk Back magazines and he has been a finalist in international competitions. |
Anne Bailey
Song of the teenager
(Golden Shovel after ‘Fox’ Alice Oswald)
I grow, I grow, things change until it
is not tooth fairies and reindeer I most crave, it is
more to do with creeping home at midnight,
the desperate need to move unseen through my
family‘s gaze into a different skin and a life
unmapped, empty of all that is
recommended. I hate all rules laid
down, supposed to keep me out
of harms way, such fears are beneath
my contempt. I need to rely only on my
self, I have power that is absolute, children
have no idea of this - a freedom that is just like
flying - the wind in your hair, no gold
star to mark this, not even one laurel leaf
To write a Golden Shovel, borrow a line or phrase by someone else, and use each of their words as the final word of each line in your new poem. You must keep the original order of the words intact, and you must credit the author of the original line or phrase. - Google
Anne Bailey is a Yorkshire woman now living and writing poems in North Norfolk. She has had her work published in ‘Ink Sweat and Tears’, ‘Brittle Star’, ‘Obsessed with Pipework’, ‘Lighthouse’, ‘The Moth’, ‘Under the Radar’ and ‘London Grip’ journals. She is a committee member for ‘Cafe Writers’ organising live poetry events in Norwich. Her poem was commended in the Ambit 2021 Poetry Competition and her first pamphlet ‘What the House Taught Us’ was published in 2021 by Emma Press. |
Philippa Ramsden
Picnic by the Sea
Largs, 1967
Condensation drips down
inside the windscreen
of the red Mini traveller.
Raindrops stroll down the outside
of the cracked-open window.
In the front passenger seat,
Mother twists around
passes a ham sandwich
to the child in the back seat.
“I thought we were going for a picnic”
the child whines.
Tight-lipped in the driver’s seat,
Father drains his congealing tea
from the sole thermos beaker
with its pinched plastic handle.
The rain teems down outside,
the air in the car
stale and stifling.
“This is a picnic”, Mother replies.
“look, sandwiches and juice,
in the outdoors”.
She swills out the plastic cup,
discards the cloudy liquid
out of the momentarily-opened door,
fills the same cup
with more filmy tea,
her turn for a drink.
Where is the blanket,
laid on the grass,
crisp linen tea towels,
the sunshine and the lemonade?
Where are the happy parents,
laughing and throwing a beach ball?
Uncomfortable and fidgeting,
sticking to the back seat,
chilled and disappointed,
the child drinks down plastic-tainted juice
from the Tupperware tumbler
and waits for cake
in vain.
There is no cake,
lemonade, games
or laughter
at a picnic
by the Largs seaside
in a Mini traveller.
Philippa Ramsden has combined a career in international development with a compulsion to write. She is fascinated by everyday moments, striving to capture these in poetry, narrative non-fiction, occasional short story and memoir and finds herself surrounded by ideas and inspiration. Life and work in Nepal, Mongolia, India, Sri Lanka, Myanmar and Rwanda over nearly two decades continues to provide an important source of memories and material. She returned to Scotland in 2017 somewhat adrift and has now settled in East Lothian, writing and gently unfurling. Her writing has appeared in publications in Hong Kong, Mongolia and Myanmar while overseas and more recently in publications by Open Book Reading, Hedgehog Poetry Press, Dreich (final issue), The Hoolet’s Nook, Snapdragon and Tyne & Esk Writers and was a finalist in Glasgow Women’s Library 2024 Bold Types Competition. |
Claire Cox
Born in Hong Kong, Claire now lives and works in Oxfordshire. She completed her practice-based PhD at Royal Holloway, University of London on poetry and disaster. and is co-founder and Associate Editor of ignitionpress, winner of the 2021 Michael Marks Publishers’ Award. One of three poets included in Primers: Volume Five, Claire also won the 2020 Wigtown Alastair Reid Pamphlet Prize. Her poems have appeared in magazines and anthologies, including Where Else: An International Hong Kong Poetry Anthology and Angled by the Flood from which ‘Seasick’ features on the Joshua Jaswon Octet jazz album Polar Waters.
Derek Sellen
How to Conduct a War
1. Update the rules of war,
making them more user-friendly.
2. Ignore treaties, ceasefires, weapon bans
and the deaths of children.
3. Indoctrinate your recruits.
Play them an anthem.
Remind them what happens to deserters.
4. At home, do not forget to jail dissidents,
pacifists, opposition politicians and poets.
5. Don’t go in without an invitation.
The grudges of minorities are often useful.
6. Fracture the infrastructure!
Bomb a hospital in a surgical attack!
7. Facilitate crucial logistic objectives
by enlisting Famine, Disease and Disaster.
8. If it comes to nuclear war,
make it clear to posterity (should there be any)
that ‘they’ left you no choice.
9. Do not give in to talk of ‘war-crimes’ –
Complain about the rule-breaking of the other side.
10. Civilian deaths in large enough numbers
can be persuasive, a swift surrender saves lives.
11. Impose a peace deal and gain a Nobel.
How to justify a war. How to provoke a war. How to win a war.
Get our easy-to-follow How to guides
with a publishing history as long as tyranny.
Derek Sellen lives in Canterbury and has performed his work in the UK and Europe. His poems have been published widely and recognised in numerous competitions. Most recently, his poem was highly commended in the Edward Thomas Competition 2024-2025. He has twice been Canterbury Festival Poet of the Year and three times winner of O’Bheal (Cork). His collection The Other Guernica was a finalist in the Poetry Book Award 2020. |
Claire Parker
Stand Up
STAND UP.
I froze
But
BE QUIET.
But Miss
STAND UP. GO OUTSIDE.
Seven years of me, all that I was, burning
yet freezing. It wasn’t fair. Not fair. Not fair at all.
I only said
BE QUIET.
But Miss
YOU BROKE THE RULES. YOU KNOW YOU DID.
I couldn’t help
QUIET. YOUR EXAM IS CUT. GO OUTSIDE.
Outside was cold.
The playground was cruel. I slipped
on the ice- black tarmac.
I had no coat. Surely, she knew
the spider was killing the bird
that I heard in the picture
right there on the page.
She didn’t understand
that the words spurted out.
I couldn’t help it.
Brian sat next to me. I only whispered ah poor bird
but he heard and nodded. He understood.
But I never forgave her.
Claire Parker writes; I have been writing poetry for many years- but never shared it beyond friends and family. My life as a GP, former medical researcher, writer on health and wellbeing and more recently, during and immediately after the Pandemic, as a Wellbeing Advisor in two Oxford Colleges, has left little time to share my poetry more widely. Now, I am taking that step- listening and learning from the living poetry of others and beginning to share some of mine. What a privilege to do so! How lucky we are to be free to do so! |
Trisha Broomfield
Cat-opoly: The Rules
1) A cat is always the top hat, any owner, the old boot
(both of these icons have been replaced by rubber ducks
and penguins)
2) Players must throw a six to start, except for cats who may miaow loudly for instant access.
3) The banker is always a cat.
4) Properties: Park Lane in already owned by an absentee landlord, who happens to be a cat. Rent applies to anyone landing here and must be paid in Dreamies, number to be negotiated.
5) Any player may purchase Piccadilly provided they have a close relative who is a cat.
6) Water Works is owned by a consortium of cats, all of whom only drink from the toilet.
7) Cats’ Chest cards all fall in a cat’s favour.
8) Cats’ Chance; cats have nine chances, unlimited access to any road and free parking.
9) Cats may visit an owner in jail but may walk free at any time.
10) An owner may purchase Old Kent Road and build houses. Any cat may move in rent free.
11) Income Tax does not apply to cats.
12) Owners may purchase Marylebone but must visit Java Whiskers Cat Café.
13) Any fines will be paid in bites and scratches, the severity of which may be reduced on receipt of Dreamies.
14) Payment on passing GO will be forwarded to The Cats’ Protection Racket * overseen by battle scarred tuxedo cats.
15) The winner; the winner is always a cat.
*The Cats’ Protection Racket is not affiliated in anyway to the charity, Cats’ Protection .
Trisha Broomfield has three pamphlets (published by Dempsey and Windle) and contributed to many anthologies. She is a member of the Cranleigh Writers’ Group who are preparing their second anthology for launch at the Cranleigh Book Festival on 23rd April this year She is one third of the Booming Lovelies, who will be performing at the Farnham Literary Festival on 28thMarch and the Cranleigh Book Festival. More dates to come. Her new collection, My Acrostic Mother, illustrated by fellow Lovely Heather Moulson, is available to order; bookstores and online. You can hear her poems at Poetry Worth Hearing and BBC Upload. Instagram @magentapink22 @boominglovlies
|
If you came here first, you can find the episode at https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/kathleen-mcphilemy/episodes/Poetry-Worth-Hearing-Episode-30-e2v6nqr
Please listen and share. You can send comments or suggestions to poetryworthhearing@gmail.com
The theme for the next episode will be 'moving': motion, emotion, process, change, flux, poems that start in one place and finish somewhere else. Submissions of up to 4 minutes of unpublished poems plus texts plus a short bio to poetryworthhearing@gmail.com by March 18th.
Comments