Tuesday, 1 March 2016

A poem by Michael Brown

Wi’


that frail h is the first to go
and so I catch the vowels’ reel
into native wit
but your Mersey tongue knows it’s late
must also obliterate
that t to just its tacit hint,
a glottal stop:
After ardour whispers across your lips
like the fluency of love
it goes with the territory:
Wit me. Say it again.
Watch it become
Wi me — you know what I mean?
Half way between the words we speak
is where we kiss
is where we meet.



Michael’s work has been published widely including The Rialto, Lighthouse Journal, Other Poetry, Crannog, South Bank Poetry, Envoi, The North, Brittle Star, New Walk and The Interpreter's House.

In 2014 he won the Untold London Brazen Valentine Competition with his poem, From Hungerford Bridge, Looking East.

He was placed third in the York Poetry Prize, 2015, with the poem Water Lilies and he recently collaborated with the Liverpool poet Maria Isakova Bennett in a project at the Walker Gallery as part of Light Night.

The pamphlet, Undersong (2014) is available from Eyewear Publishing. Michael is currently working towards a first collection.

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