Looking up at the sky from between two tall buildings.

Head all the way back
One last glimpse of grey daylight
Before starting work.

Unrhymed Pantoum

The Earth spins on
Around the Sun
The Moon comes up
Amongst the stars

Around the Sun
The planets sing,
Amongst the stars
They’re barely seen

The planets sing
Their wordless song
They’re barely seen
And seldom heard

Their wordless song
The Great Minds seek
And seldom heard
The children cry

The Great Minds seek.
The Moon comes up.
The children cry.
The Earth spins on.

Little Handbag

I have a little handbag
That sits upon my knee
But somehow it’s much bigger
Than a handbag ought to be

It takes in bottled water
By the litre. And the pens!
Hear them rattle in despair
Of ever being found again.

There’s mints and sticking plasters,
And a glasses-mending tool,
Nail files, clippers, stamps and tissues,
And a fan for staying cool.

Deep in its dark and endless
Hidden depths there may well be
An old three-volume novel,
“Title Pending”, by “L.P.”

So I pay no attention
To what the labels say;
I think my little handbag
Was made on Gallifrey,

Looking Out

Inside today: inside my house, inside my room, inside my bed, inside my head. This is the price for two consecutive days of activity. Behind the netting, an open window. Open curtains too, now that the glaring sun is in retreat. Air-holes made for this bug-in-a-jar. I can’t get out, but at least I won’t suffocate.

A second window is also open, not to give air, but something even more precious: human contact. This window takes my words and sends them out into the aether, returning with words from faceless, nameless fellow writers. We help each other with information and encouragement, and suddenly the jar doesn’t seem to matter so much.

Illness takes a toll
The bells mark off my sentence.
Warm days keep it short.

The Way to My Heart…

Takeaway for two – both me
Me-now, and me-at-midnight
With two poems due and food
My last defence against fatigue

Ordered online, between edits.
Delivered within the hour, hot
And fresh. Sometimes I love the internet.

Fairface and the Hag

Fairface longs to see the world
Childhood home lies at his back,
Bread and milk are all his pack.
Tests to face upon the road,

Old sage giving him advice.
Seeking shelter from the storm,
Here, a castle! Worn and old.
In a castle lives a hag,

Coarse her manners and her face
Fairface seeks the heart within
A curse revealed, at last undone,
Love and patience win the day.

From a short story I wrote many years ago, gender-flipping “Beauty and the Beast”.

Label Libel

Fat, white, female, cis, disabled,
Ace, brunette, short-sighted, labels
That describe what you can see;
None of them describing me.

Christian, signer, singer, writer
Chatty, cheerful, up-all-nighter,
Things I freely choose to be;
Still not quite describing me.

Label-space has narrow limits,
People cannot fit within it.
What is my identity?
Truly simple: I am me.

Hearing and Not Hearing

I hear sounds
Meanings carried like melodies
But the lyrics are lost
In the acoustic ocean.

Hearing tests passed
In quiet rooms the waves still
Soft voices and bright tones
Like clear waters

No ear-worn aid
Could teach my brain to hear
One sound against a thousand
One fish in the shoal

I relax with
Sign language and subtitles
But may not request them
Not being deaf

I love sounds
Music is a lifeline with which
I catch your meaning
If not your words

Earwig ho!

No more planning, no more waiting,
No more frantic breath-abating,
No more standing in the line,
No more checking off the time,
No more nervous fretting,
No more not-just-yetting,
No more crawling time,
Now the time is flyin’!
Now the racers
Set the pace.
Get set:

Gearing up for 2016

Crashed out last year, so just up for the half-marathon this year.

Name: Kell Willsen

Location: UK

Some favourite poets: Quentin Blake, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Christina Rossetti, F W Harvey, Wendy Cope, Ogden Nash, Allan Ahlberg

Writing style: Still searching for it

Marathon preparation: Reading poetry, writing from prompts, collecting inspiration.

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