Guest Poem by Jennie E. Owen

Jennie E. Owen’s writing has been widely published online, in anthologies, and in literary magazines that include Agenda Poetry, Tears in the Fence, The Rialto, and Wasafiri. She has MAs in both Creative Writing and English and teaches creative writing for the Open University. Jennie E Owen lives in Lancashire with her husband and three children.


No bright. No mullock moon. No day, no night.
No texture left, no crack of ice nor ridge
of dirt so hard it jars the knees, instead
just rain. Muck, sucks and sighs the breath of fog;
where mushrooms, mildew, lichen creep like ghosts
to polka dot the trees with evil eyes.

Water races, clotting; bubbles gravy
then drowns the kings and crowns of ancient days
whose bones clap up upon the lids of crypts.
Not wrapped in ermine, jewels nor golden robes
but dressed in plastic bags. Littered, regal
with purple moss, pink bottle tops for pearls.

No bright. No mullock moon. No day. The sky
sweat stained, in watered silk of mud and grey.