The first free issue of LAMP is being distributed across universities, coffee shops, retirement homes, bars, libraries, hospitals, and art galleries, from May 2009.
Composed in solitude, it was time for these writers to circulate and aerate their work. LAMP includes a new generation of poets who want to serve the subjective wonder of poetry; writers who regard poetry as that rare place in language where anything is possible. This issue celebrates the importance of diversity and the continual relevance for poetry within our lives.
Each writer has approached and selected their subject and style with a unique perspective. Poetry is perhaps the most challenging of all forms of artistic expression both to define and produce. Who can categorically say when a particular kind of text even becomes a poem? The poet Gwendolyn Brooks once said, 'Poetry is life distilled,' and therefore, it remains a truly subjective experience.
On this online version of LAMP, a taster for the issue as a whole, you will find examples of the energetic and ambitious writing being pursued by seven newly emerging poets.
Harriet Saunders
The Croft in July.
Joni’s voice ripples out
joining dancing dandelion seeds.
Slugs and snails rest in the dark damp belly
of a silver trailed watering-can.
Bare patches mark old cat nests
amongst the wild strawberries.
Noughts and crosses graffiti the sky,
ants wonder over toast crumbs,
Passionflowers cling to the side of the house,
plating thick brows over the windows.
Inside, dog eared crumpled faces,
Barbados, the Black Forest and palm crosses
cover cupboards.
The driveway is a festival of fluttering colour,
hoards of butterflies indulge in sweet apple pulp.
The porch fills with a warm mist of familiar smelling fabric softener,
condensation drips and licks empty milk bottles.
An hourly whistle,
mechanical clicking,
and folds of white smoke
rise over the neighbouring terracotta tiles of the school roof.
Joni’s voice ripples out
joining dancing dandelion seeds.
Slugs and snails rest in the dark damp belly
of a silver trailed watering-can.
Bare patches mark old cat nests
amongst the wild strawberries.
Noughts and crosses graffiti the sky,
ants wonder over toast crumbs,
Passionflowers cling to the side of the house,
plating thick brows over the windows.
Inside, dog eared crumpled faces,
Barbados, the Black Forest and palm crosses
cover cupboards.
The driveway is a festival of fluttering colour,
hoards of butterflies indulge in sweet apple pulp.
The porch fills with a warm mist of familiar smelling fabric softener,
condensation drips and licks empty milk bottles.
An hourly whistle,
mechanical clicking,
and folds of white smoke
rise over the neighbouring terracotta tiles of the school roof.
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