Pomegranate by Ian Lewis Copestick

I think, cringing of when I was at school, early teens, thinking I was the next Joe Strummer. A few short years later wishing I was ” On The Road ” really, I was barely able to cross it. Next, a virginal Henry Miller fan. Well, I guess I wasn’t the first one of those….

A Magical Time by Ian Lewis Copestick

I’m sitting here and thinking of when I wrote my first few poems. It was a magical time.  It was a cold, cold winter and I was working nine and a half hour night shifts in a cardboard box factory. It took me over an hour to get there, and the same to get back….

Coronavirus by Ian Lewis Copestick

Coronavirus Covid-19 There, have I got your attention now ? If you are reading this in the future, and there are people still here then I am right, and it’s a massive overreaction. If I am wrong it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve already lived through swine flu bird flu, mad cow disease, AIDS, the fear…

Weather, Or Not by Ian Lewis Copestick

It’s a grim, grey rainy night water running in the gutters. At six p.m., it’s starting to go dark and the day is winding down. I can’t wait for a couple of months to go by, and for the nights to become lighter and for the sun to begin to shine. Anyone who says that…

Three Poems by Ian Lewis Copestick

Suddenly Something I’ll be out, walking with my dog On a cold, wet, dark winter night When suddenly something happens It may be the way the light from A shop sign bounces off the wet pavement And that’s it, I’m off ! My mind is racing, the adrenaline’s Flowing and in my head I’m writing…

This grey/green landscape by Ian Lewis Copestick

I look out through dusty white nets at this grey/green landscape that I have seen for nearly every day of my entire bloody life. At 2:46 this march, in pastel colours, afternoon it’s beautiful, bathed washed in a pale spring sunlight. I remember a scouse dealer telling me that he thought where I lived was…

True Crimes by Ian Lewis Copestick

Every night we watch true crime programmes on T.V. Tonight the inevitable happened, one crime slid into another. My wife asked  “Do you get this ? Why did he kill him ?” I said ” Well, obviously it was the ten grand. ” ” No, Ian that was the last programme. The one that was…

PS25, Or Whatever by Ian Lewis Copestick

Walking the suburban streets tonight I can’t help but notice how empty they are. Of course, it’s winter, but that never stopped us, when we were kids. We’d be out playing football whatever the weather. Now parents have irrational fears of gangs of roaming paedophiles, abducting children off the streets, willy nilly, or that every…

Henry Miller by Ian Lewis Copestick

I remember being 14 years old and first reading Henry Miller. ” At last ! “, I thought ” Here is a man who at least tried to tell the truth, HIS truth.” His writing was inconsistent, at times it was terrible, but at last here was someone SCREAMING, and to me it sounded like…

Bamboozled by Ian Lewis Copestick

When I was youngerI used to really believethat there was this thingcalled society, and therewas an order to things.That no matter what happenedthere were procedures inplace to deal with it. Allof the instructions aboutwhat to do in the eventof a nuclear holocaust,that we saw on T.V. , orread about in governmentpamphlets promised it.Now, as I’m…