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CAUGHT IN THE NET 192 -  POETRY  BY CLAIR CHILVERS

Series Editor - Jim Bennett for The Poetry Kit - www.poetrykit.org
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Submissions for this series of Featured poets is open, please see instruction in afterword at the foot of this mail.
 

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A stroll in the Fellows’ garden

planted in diamonds of blue and silver

dinner by candle-light.

 

Fire alarm late at night

tumble down the stairs, half-asleep

a woman in silk kimono, jewelled slippers.

 

 

                 from Fragments by Clair Chilvers 

 

CONTENTS

1 - BIOGRAPHY
2 – POETRY
 

 

THE FOUNDLING

UNIFORM FOR A UNICORN

FRAGMENTS
YORKSHIRE AIR

THE VIRGIN AND THE CRESCENT MOON
CYNARA SCALYMUS

THE BADGER

GREY
RESTLESS NIGHTS
EQUINOX EPIEDEMIC


3 - PUBLISHING HISTORY

4 - AFTERWORD
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1 – BIOGRAPHY:  Clair Chilvers

 

Clair Chilvers lives in Cheltenham, UK. Her poems have been published in online and print journals.

She won 2nd prize in the Poetry Kit Ekphrastic Competition 2020 and was highly commended

in the Poetry Kit Autumn Competition 2020 and longlisted for the Cinnamon Press Pamphlet Competition 2020.

Recent publications can be found in Agenda, Impspired, Sarasvati, Apex, The Journal, Ink Sweat and Tears, Reach Poetry.

Her first collection Out of the Darkness (Frosted Fire) was published in 2021.

 

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2 - POETRY 

 

THE FOUNDLING

 

I was born, yet not born,

arrived on the doorstep on a dark night.

The angels put me down, blew a kiss,

and went off to do whatever angels do on Saturday night.

 

They found me in the morning of course

when they opened the kitchen door

to let the King in after his night out.

He hadn’t met the angels, different pubs I guess.

They didn’t know what to do with me

didn’t want to call the cops

in case they found the loot in the loft.

Decided to wait until they’d tidied up, moved it on.

That I could stay till then.

 

Of course that day never came.

It wouldn’t, would it

whatever was moved on was replaced.

So I grew up but I knew about the angels;

they came by once in a while

to check I was ok

to check my wings hadn’t grown yet.

 

UNIFORM FOR A UNICORN

 

A well-bred unicorn must go to school
to the school for unicorns

in the forest far from home

where the foundlings live

delivered by the angels.

She must have a uniform

from the unicorns’ uniform shop

in the shady dell by the stream

where spirits congregate at night

and elves sit on leaves

to sew her school clothes

so that she will look like all the other unicorns.

 


FRAGMENTS 

 

A punt on the Cherwell

moored under willows

cool wine in the shallows.

 

Chinese food, an Elvis movie

climb into Christ Church

Sunday morning dew on the Meadows.

 

A stroll in the Fellows’ garden

planted in diamonds of blue and silver

dinner by candle-light.

 

Fire alarm late at night

tumble down the stairs, half-asleep

a woman in silk kimono, jewelled slippers.

 

Summertown Bed and Breakfast

the single bed so worn

it had a hollow in the middle.

 

A paper at Green College,

dinner overlooking the Observatory

the last memory of my love.

 

YORKSHIRE AIR

 

Across the river from a car park,

the gallery, all hard edges and angles,

built over a weir so spectacular

a window floor to ceiling

captures it, soundless.

Her models for the sculptures, plaster, life size

rather than Lilliputian maquettes.

The lives intertwined

linked by a common birthplace

Hepworth, Moore, Hockney

something about Yorkshire air.

In another room Miller's photographs

of Moore and undazzled children.

 

Afterwards we walk through the town

to the cathedral

to see the great Kempe windows

passing foreign food shops,

people speaking other languages,

poverty, pound shops,

then the cathedral steps

and inside a labyrinth.

Eight boys sing evensong.

 

 

THE VIRGIN AND THE CRESCENT MOON

After Albrecht Durer: The Virgin on the Crescent Moon. (1510-11)

 

She sits within a starburst

on a crescent moon

the Child in her arms

her gaze intent, eyes lowered

 

The rich drapery of her dress

her necklace and the tasseled cushion

are far from the stable, the manger

 

Another moon-seated woman

swings her leg seductively

in a fifties musical

and wonders whether there is a future

 


CYNARA SCALYMUS

 

Incongruous in a herbaceous border

an artichoke stands proudly.

The cruel thistle leaves pale green

against the dark, damp, Devon soil

the stem sturdy, woody

the globes with their triangular petals

densely packed.

A cook would say that it had gone to seed.

But no, the purple flower, spiky

as a punk's haircut,

is a wonder for a day or two

until it darkens and dies back

to a quieter shape.

 

Too late to pluck these globes to eat.

I imagine boiling them for twenty minutes

dipping each leaf in melted butter

my teeth stripping off the inner softness

Then saving the best ‘til last

cutting out the soft spikes from the heart

to eat the tender flesh.

 

THE BADGER

 

I drive along the lane, not far from town,

to my house, where my lover will come,

one day, when he is ready.

 

The lane unfamiliar

I struggle a little to find the way

then come to houses

dark shadows set back

and in the middle of the road a badger

unmistakable in his grey striped coat

unhurried, crosses the lane,

pulls me up short from my reverie

of a future that hasn’t quite come.

 


GREY

 

Wet London pavements

reflect streetlamps at four o'clock.

 

The Solent lumpy,

leaden clouds brush the sea.

Yachts with reefed sails

hurry to Cowes, Southampton Water.

 

The shingle shore at Welcombe Mouth

pale pebbles marbled dirty white.

I pick one up for my collection.

 

The wedding dress I should have bought

a column of cold grey chiffon

more prescient than red velvet.

 

 

RESTLESS NIGHTS

 

In the still darkness

when the church clock strikes three

when all the world sleeps but me

I dwell on the past, on sins of omission or worse,

most from the years before I understood

that what the world thinks does not matter;

what I think seals the divide

between repose and remorse.

 

Today I read the Letter of John,

words well known from the liturgy,

a way at last to face the past,

acknowledge wrongs done, hurt caused,

then leave them like mists

wrap


EQUINOX EPIEDEMIC

 

The equinox is near

a feeling of relief

to have got through the winter:

through the twilit late afternoons,

the cheerlessness of cold and rain.

 

Last year tea and crumpets by the fire

with children, grandchildren;

friends meeting for brunch in warm cafés,

walking through the dusk to see a film.

 

This year is different:

a profound sense of waiting,

of nervous uncertainty,

an epidemic hovering

on the cusp of exponentiality.

 

Empty shelves in the shops

human interactions put on hold,

thrown back on our own resources,

pubs feel threatening, restaurants unwise,

Saturday afternoons without the match

loom long and dull.

 

By day we talk on zoom and skype,

change how we live and work forever.

 

Rusty at neighborliness

we discover the invisibles -

the old, frightened, vulnerable,   

alone.


 

3 - PUBLISHING HISTORY

THE FOUNDLING published in Artemis 2020

UNIFORM FOR A UNICORN published in Apex 2020
FRAGMENTS published in Allegro 2020

YORKSHIRE AIR published in Sarasvati 2020

THE VIRGIN AND THE CRESCENT MOON published in The Ekphrastic Review 2019
CYNARA SCALYMUS published in Atrium 2018

THE BADGER published in Impspired 2020
GREY published in Sarasvati 2020
RESTLESS NIGHTS published in Impspired 2020
EQUINOX EPIDEMIC published in PK Plague Year Anthology 2020

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4 - Afterword

Email Poetry Kit - info@poetrykit.org    - if you would like to tell us what you think. 

We are looking for other poets to feature in this series, and are open to submissions.  Please send one poem and a short bio to - info@poetrykit.org