Sandré Clays, born in Calcutta, India, but now living in Wigan, started writing about ten years ago, her interest in the written word having been nurtured by first working at The Liverpool Echo and later at The Newcastle Herald, NSW, Australia. She has had poems published in various magazines and anthologies, and also has two joint collections, Rhapsody in Two, and Wigan Journey with her husband John. She successfully completed two poetry modules at Bolton University achieving A's and has twice guest edited an international Bolton magazine Current Accounts. She enjoys performing her poetry regularly at The Dead Good Poets, Liverpool, Write Out Loud, Bolton, The Wigan Lit Festival and anywhere else who will have her, and has also had the pleasure of reading poems on GMR and her poem Mocha on Radio Merseyside, which was one of the five runners up in last year's Mari Rhyme competition. Her poem Grabberhoggie came second in the SM Dykes Manchester Writing Contest 2005 and is currently featured in their Flick Lit magazine. Sandre is available for readings and headlining.
ASPIRATIONS If I were a real poet I'd write of the great Heroes from mythology of Theseus and the Minotaur; Perseus and Andromeda, of crumbled dynasties abandoned Gods, tombs, catacombs Pharaohs buried with their wives, wild Norsemen in their longships Valhalla, plunder, burning pyres, Arthurian legends, sacred quests, beleaguered castles, knights riding to their deaths. I'd take you on a journey across the span of centuries where you could taste my colours; inhale my melodies sparkling like perfumes in their phials, feel the warmth of my arms with your eyes. All this would I create but being of prosaic ilk my thoughts are sorted, senses filed, not to be mismatched or ever surprise. Siren Your voice is svelt, it melts discreetly into consciousness like a mild form of insanity. You promise but do not deliver permanent satisfaction. Your image beckons from windows, hoardings, glossy magazines arranged in tasteful packaging; perhaps should bear instead a hazard strip proclaiming rip-off. Yet naked you are still a sable temptress irresistible. my Nemesis, my burgeoning flesh, my wicked doxy chocolate. Conflicts We said the one in Kosovo brought it closer and wept for the torched houses; their wrecked utilities of modern life laid bare, the pair of trainers, upended in a mound of mud. We observed with horror the swelling refugees spewed out like lava as their country erupted. We kept watch faithfully with Nato and Jamie Shea at pains to maintain credibility, be the good guys. We gaped, enthralled and appalled as military performed a kind of keyhole surgery; smart bombs that flew where crosshairs marked the spots, and death rose again like a charred phoenix from the ashes of Iraq. But in the end it was always guaranteed to be a turn off; just a different day, a different despot. Select a new channel, perhaps an old war movie or another episode of Tenko. March Flowers Pushing up through earth like golden soldiers, rebirth of an army marching to the wind and Wordsworth's inspiration. In the shops wrapped tightly like swaddled infants, green and yellow parcels to be festooned in nosegays, posies, or diligently arranged in vases for a Mother's Day celebration. Against the kerb, beside the bridge a dozen bunches mark out the site like clumps of fading sunlight as if in empathy with death. Secret Admirer I wish I was a pocket in your long black coat your hand nestling in me as you strut along the road tickling my lining with your strong hard thumb amidst the bits of paper and the biscuit crumbs Or perhaps I'd be a pocket in your blue striped shirt bounce up against your man boobs as you cycle off to work inhaling all the pheromones and drowning in your sweat along with a paper hankie and a stale cigarette I'd even settle for the inside of your black leather jacket riding on your motor bike, vibrating with the racket but the resting place that's best is your back trouser pocket where I'd finally get intimate with the warmth of your wallet.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
A Bit of a Devil (22/08/2008)
The Medal (16/08/2008)
Surveillance Papparazzi (28/07/2008)
Computer Seance (21/07/2008)
First Lady of the Hanging Tree (12/07/2008)
The Homecoming (04/07/2008)
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