Ken Head kenhead01@googlemail.com Bio (auto) Ken is presently based in Cambridge, England, although for many years he lived and worked in South-East Asia His poems appear regularly in a wide variety of both print and online publications and a number have been anthologized, most recently in the 2009 edition of Anomalous Appetites, an illustrated, large-format, two-hundred page compendium of speculative writing edited by New Zealand poet John Irvine and available online from Lulu.com In 2008, he published a chapbook entitled Long Shadows, which is available to read online or download from Snakeskin and was included in Poetry Super Highway’s 2009 e.book free-for-all In 2008 also, he was invited by Exeter Phoenix Arts and Media Centre in England to contribute a poem previously published online by Poets Against War to the visitor material for an exhibition of the work of the Iranian-born artist Akram Rahmanzadeh Anyone interested in hearing Ken read his own work will find him among the poets recorded online at Poetcasting and at Non-Euclidean Café His first full-length collection, Listening For Light, is to be published this summer by Poetry Monthly Press. | | |
The following work is Copyright © 2009, and owned by Ken Head and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Tea Ceremony: Hangzhou for Shiao Wei After twenty years, my mislaid past falls unexpected from a book The photo of you says it all: still lovely, self-possessed and elegantly young. Upmarket Comes Expensive French-kissing over their cappuccinos outside the corner café, two pierced, tattooed and shaven-headed girls intent on one another don’t notice the dog rub mangy flanks hard against a piss-stained, concrete wall to ease the itch, then shake off pain and trot across to sniff their boot soles one by one from underneath the table Three floors above, labourers shovelling broken brick and plaster into a long, blue chute dangling like plastic intestine down the front of a gutted tenement stop to have a laugh, enjoy the show, spit out the dirty taste of dust and decay * My children were all born in this bedroom, there were no maternity hospitals then, and it was here I nursed my husband till he died We laid him out on our bed the best we could while the men went looking for a doctor who’d come in the middle of the night I don’t know what I’d have done without such good neighbours That’s how it was in those days, we stuck together because we had to It would be easier for me now, though, to go into a home No more stairs to manage, no shopping to carry, kinder to my legs But I won’t A bit more pain’s not going to hurt at my age.
Compliance Your turn’s coming, you can see it ahead, at the other end of the line of cars stalled by the barrier in driving rain while troops in hooded capes the same drab green as the bush slosh through potholes of rust-red laterite run-off and point their guns at the driver next in line for the slow once-over, the cold-eyed document check Peering in through your rolled-down windows, they silence the world with question marks: will they let you go? Back-seat passengers stay silent You’re waved towards barbed-wire fencing, a red-and-white-checked metal gate, heavy machine-guns mounted on tripods under cover in the backs of jeeps A soldier ticks his clipboard, signals you on, grins as you pull obediently away and the gate drops back into place No one puts his foot down, you drive slowly, line astern, like undertakers, mindful of frailty and watchful of the road The saturated green landscape melts by outside, leaves you hungry for tarmac, white lines, the false security of road signs. |
Richard L Provencher richardprov1@netscape.net Bio (auto) I was born and raised in Rouyn-Noranda, northern Quebec, where hunting and fishing abounds My father once said, “You spend so much time in the woods, be careful you don’t turn into a tree.” My love of the woods and contemporary issues form the basis of my writing Lately I find myself focusing on poetry To me, writing poetry is a global adventure in a land without borders Working with Aboriginals, low-income housing and foster parenting developed areas of understanding, crucial to my writing I have short stories in print and online as well as poems in international literary magazines such as Sky Forest, Hudson View, Short Story Library, Ottawa Arts Review, Dublin Quarterly and Other Voices My wife, Esther and I, live in Truro, Nova Scotia She, along with prayers from family and friends helped me immensely since my stroke in 1999 During this period we co-authored three novels now available from: www.synergebooks.com In addition we placed many stories we wrote for our children on several websites | | |
The following work is Copyright © 2009, and owned by Richard L Provencher and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author. The Wind is a Peanut I want to make the wind wobble to watch it squirm from where I sit whistling and whoosing sounds resonating I want to capture its essence to feel the magic against my face warm at times each season competing for my attention I want to chew into the meat like a mouthful of peanuts savouring tasting scent teasing from the wind I call upon. |
|