On Louis Armstrong, by Camille Bainbridge

By a lovely friend of mine – a piece examining what we hold dear, our foibles, our responsibilities and the threat of loss.

 

Source: On Louis Armstrong, by Camille Bainbridge

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Mindfulness & Writing: How Mindfulness Can Make Better Writers (featuring Mel-Lee Smith!)

Why Words Work

Mindfulness.

It’s everywhere these days. From Guardian articles, to blogs, to self-help books and Youtube videos. The practice of Mindfulness has become synonymous with relaxation, meditation, stress-relief and, for some, those hipster kids with their fresh kale smoothies and too much sunshine.

Whatever your stance may be on the subject, there is no denying that Mindfulness is a hot topic on the internet. Which leads me to ask one simple question:

Is Mindfulness useful for writers?

To help answer this, I’ve teamed up with a writer who specialises in mental health and wellbeing. Today, my guest blogger will be the lovely Mel Lee-Smith!

Mel Lee Smith is a blogger who talks about writing and wellness. She believes that in order to write our best work, we have to be our best selves. From self-help articles, to no-nonsense advice, Mel uses her writing to help inspire…

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Anthology out now

Anthology9Cover

Our ninth anthology is out now, featuring Bryony Bates; Susan Bee; Charles Bernstein; Cathy Butterworth; Stuart Calton; Kimberly Campanello; Wayne Clements; Sarah-Clare Conlon; Gary Fisher; Joey Frances; Steven Hitchins; Sarah Kelly; Linda Kemp; Amy McCauley; Geraldine Monk; Iain Morrison; Kerry Morrison; Wanda O’Connor; Maggie O’Sullivan; Martin Palmer; Sam Riviere; Rosanne Robertson and James Wilkes. Go here to buy a copy.

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Osiris 75

maureralvarez

Two more poems from my series, In a Form of Suspension, have recently appeared in the wonderful print magazine OSIRIS, edited by Andrea Moorhead.  This beautifully produced magazine began in 1972.

Crisp Hallucination

Ah, there’s the incomplete snow

twisting a wheel blood stare down my personal streets again

It strings the wherewithal, the velvet hurt,

my quotable flippant guttural bindings

The moisture of the wind’s solo step

unwinds noon madrigals

and the unbearable drive of a drum repeats the position

A lofty fever releases its familiar touch–

to straggle, to partially lose

and to echo the black friction

My Bearings

I’ve lost that maroon blur, the blush of your dahlias

and my slopes are dropping back

I see bees reeling in a chill caused by the white owl

as the ash lady presses glistening antlers into wide shadows

in the midst of an orchestral beam I hear sharp weeping

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