INDIGO DREAMS PUBLISHING LTD
WILD NATURE POETRY AWARD competition now open.
138 x 216mm
£6.00 + P&P UK
Let's send drones
to the satellite towns,
but not like that Betjeman poem.
Ship household essentials
to pale residentials,
shoppers who never leave home.
Let's despatch dreams
to the dormitory towns,
to fend off their fear of the dawn.
for mythical bosses,
leaders who never leave home.
Let's click and let's swipe
in the bachelor towns,
from a short-let luxury lounge.
To another Skype marriage
in the WiFi carriage,
a husband who never comes home.
Then the sunspot struck.
The lines went dead.
"Stock up, lock down"
came the call.
But no-one knew how,
or wanted to anyway.
crossing the motorway.
We orbit the towns, faces to faces.
Like primary contacts
with alien races.
With words, or a lack of words.
With smiles, or an absence of smiles.
Coming home later,
staying up longer.
With excuses, or no more excuses.
In haste, or with hesitations.
In motion, or lost to stillness.
In time, or without time.
With regret, or with dismissal.
With remorse, or a beginning of remorse.
The day is over,
the night is over.
With one bound, with one bound.
Foxes in Fog
At first she thought they were dogs
brushing his heels,
domestic shapes in the thickening fog .
But then five, seven, eleven,
tawnier, redder, crossing the car park.
He gathers scraps from the folds of his coat.
Conjures swirls from these foxes.
Carnival blizzards, that could turn to snow.
He will not tame them,
he doesn't want to.
He wants to be ringmaster, for this night only.
He doesn't see her.
He thinks he’s alone.
When the Traveller Knows that he’s Closer to Home
(from the woodblock Fujikawa by Utagawa Hiroshige)
When the snow fills the trees
into swollen white silhouettes.
When the summit can show him
every layer of sky.
When he watches each rooftop
and their perfect curve.
When friends can gather
on the new fallen ground.
When his panniers are empty from the journey.
So his horse’s hooves keep the ice at bay.
So the journey may finish before nightfall.
When the Poet
When the poet
no longer sees the moon.
When no stars shine
or night beasts call
When their words
are just fragments of recurring dreams.
Tiring and tired
How to respond?
Tell them to write what they know.
And if in the moment they know
only sparse skies and silence,
then tell them to write about that.
‘paperfolders’ is a collection of stories about community, connectivity and creativity. The poems were written in response to the rise in populism, the pandemic, and increasing scope for isolation and abuse within society. The poems shift from fatalism to resilience, both individual and collective, describing paperfolders who model birds, and send letters, while deals and contracts are sealed on screens.
“These poems are clear, often funny, never trivial.
You can hear the voice. You know where its owner stands, what they see, how it affects them.”
“‘paperfolders’ is a deft meditation on movement, from feet on pavements to a pen at rest. Hemingway finds the line between everyday and apocalyptic and walks it well."
Chris Hemingway was born in Mansfield, studied and trained in Leeds and Manchester, and now lives in Gloucestershire.
His first poetry pamphlet “Party in the Diaryhouse” was published by Picaroon Poetry in 2018, and he has self-published three collections: “Cigarettes and Daffodils” (2012), “The Future” (prose collection, 2015) and “Who Lied About the Mermaid’s Ghost” (2019). He has also had work published in Prole, Riggwelter, Sarasvati, iamnotasilentpoet, Clear Poetry, Three Drops From a Cauldron, Atrium and Strix.
Chris has worked as a volunteer for Cheltenham Poetry Festival and Gloucestershire Writers’ Network, and has regularly read for Ashmolean Poetry Tours and New [email protected] Kings. As a day job, he works in NHS and Local Government Finance.
He has also written, gigged and recorded as a solo singer and in various collaborations around Gloucestershire, Manchester and Bristol, and was once described in Venue Magazine as “suffering from the hip Sunday school teacher with guitar syndrome”, probably on account of his spectacles.