Emma is a Wolverhampton based performance poet and freelance writer. She is a multiple slam winner and has appeared at literature festivals and spoken word nights across the country, including featured artist slots for Apples and Snakes and Bang Said the Gun. In the past she has provided support for John Hegley, Holly McNish and Carol Ann Duffy. She is co-author of 'The Nailmakers Daughters' (Offa's Press), and her most recent collection of children's poetry, I Once Knew a Poem Who Wore a Hat (Fair Acre Press), won the poetry section of the Rubery Book Award in 2016. www.emmapurshouse.co.uk
Warm hands, cold heart. A vegetarian Running late One winter morning Grabbed The nearest pair of gloves, Which, on closer inspection, Turned out to be leather with rabbit skin cuffs. Her mind Confused by conscience Allowed her to believe Her hands were plunged up rabbits' arses; Surrounded by innards, blood, gore. Her fingers, encased in tight newness, Felt for all the world As though they had reached The very tips of rabbit ears. Disgust pervaded her day. Although, It had to be said, Her hands Were as warm as a summer woodland. (previously published in Raw Edge Magazine) Here is the News Here is the news. The Eiffel Tower is missing; on the Champs Elyssees, Big Ben has just struck seventeen; in Washington, the Whitehouse staff awoke to find the Penta Gone. We have unconfirmed reports of its dramatic reappearance, near St Peter’s Square (In Rome). The Vatican has relocated to Islamabad; three mosques and the Golden Temple of Amritzar have been sighted on the moon. Back home, in the High Street, Boots, Woolworths and WH Smiths are nowhere to be found. And residents on a council estate have their world turned upside down. as lifts in high rise blocks take people up from twenty five to ground. A spokesman from the MET said, “There’s nothing to report as yet about the missing weather.” That’s all from the morning news team this evening. News Flash! NASA can no longer locate the moon. And Wolverhampton woman loses mind. “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal” T.S.Eliot I’m Maturing as a poet From The Apex Hotel In Edinburgh (room 221) I sneaked out 2 towels the free shampoo complimentary jelly beans a rubber duck I found in the bathroom And this poem. (previously published in Fire magazine) Mal de Mer The sea was heaving, he threw up a starfish and a bivalve mollusc (it was the clam before the storm). He began roiling and boiling and thrashing and crashing and bashing the rocks and lashing the shore. He awoke the kittiwakes and scared all the buoys and gulls. Sick of himself, sick of making waves, he went out and took some deep breaths. When he came back in he was feeling fine, quite well, just swell. Previously published in Caterpillar Magazine, and 'I Once Knew a Poem Who Wore a Hat' (Fair Acre Press).
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