Monday, 23 April 2018

A poem by Jennie Farley

Nirvana


Mighty Imps, those little black devils.
We pass the tiny silver tin beneath
our desks as Miss Bradshaw strides
about, gown billowing, barking
numbers chalked on the blackboard.

When Miss Bradshaw’s back is turned
Susan sticks out a blue-black tongue.
My mouth’s on fire with the taste of sin.

We’ve all become flying angels, straw
boaters turned into haloes, gymslips
unfurled like wings. We are floating high
above roofs and hockey field and Chapel.
No one can reach us now.









JENNIE FARLEY is a published poet, workshop leader and teacher. Her poetry has
featured in magazines including New Welsh Review, Under the Radar, The Interpreter’s
House, Prole and several anthologies. She has performed her work at Cheltenham
Literature Festival, Cheltenham Poetry Festival, Swindon Poetry Festival. Bristol Poetry
Revue, The Everyman Theatre, and various local venues. Jennie founded and runs
NewBohemians@CharltonKings providing regular events of poetry, performance and
music. Her collection My Grandmother Skating (Indigo Dreams) was published in 2016.
Her new collection Hex (IDP) is due out 2018 .

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