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Deseeded Vol. 1

A poem a day‌ kind of.

All rights reserved. All writers included have exerted their moral rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988. Cover: Detail from the painting My Head by Daniel Stone The editor would like to thank the members of the Deseeded Facebook Group and the participants of A poem a day‌ Kind of.

Contents Of small things by Crista Ermiya


Woodpecker by E. E. Nobbs


Moving On by Michael McHugh


Medi-Terran by Matthias Wienroth


Mrs Stone Waits for News by Degna Stone


Maelstrom of Life by Viv Wiggins


Korrision by James Oates


My Dreaming City by Ann Porro


May Your Goose Remain Uncooked by Jenni Pascoe


‘footprints in the snow’ by Amina Marix Evans


Miles to Go by Mary Louise Roa


Skin by Michael Hann



Of small things Battle-grace

of small things: over the bridge a gathering, of birds like tiny blossom in a spindly tree, their throats open. In light discord, over the bridge, a gathering of birds a sweet-solemn existential noise their throats open in light. Discord defiant against indifferent January, a sweet-solemn existential noise. ‘We are here’ they sing. Defiant against indifferent January I promised to listen. ‘We are here’.

They sing like tiny blossom in a spindly tree. I promise to listen, battle-grace of small things. Crista Ermiya

4 Woodpecker Scarlet— decorated like brave Hector’s fine warrior’s headdress and cruel sharp spear. E. E. Nobbs

5 Moving On Addressing the party faithful on Nation Day, I recalled our beginning, not in the fogs and thickets of “tried and tested” custom, but on the plain, freshly-printed page of how-could-you-not-agree theory. I reeled off to applause resonant quotes from our dear apologist, not forgetting to mark her partner’s selfless support. I reviewed our battle honours: the Lancaster Grove kettle, the martyrs of the fire, the Easter Saturday surge. Afterwards colleagues, strangers came up to shake my hand, some with tears in their eyes. The jazz band started up, burgers and ices were downed, balloons soared to the clouds. Rushing to get away for the Shanghai conference, I was only delayed a moment taking a call to dismiss our late leader’s request for a last-minute reprieve. Michael McHugh

6 Medi-Terran Light in the streets where other fires were extinguished, spaces emptied by decree hear rallying cries tonight. Old women and young men agree: the tired old men and their young women, wearing suits made of people's sweat, must finally come clean. Matthias Wienroth

7 Mrs Stone Waits for News Alone on a bench in the hospital grounds the gold pinstripe of her white dress catches the light from the afternoon sun. His worn out Nokia rests in her lap. Her hands press down on mahogany that absorbs the lustre of her skin. Her bare legs lead down to feet rigid against concrete. Her head thrown back, neck exposed, expressionless face angled to the sky; asking the sun to dry tears that shine white in her eyes. Degna Stone

8 Maelstrom of Life All these are the gifts you give and more Our encounters form stepping-stones to sanctuary Space to think, play, hide away Insight, perspective and dignity Our encounters form stepping-stones to sanctuary Rouse me from hibernation to animation Insight, perspective and dignity I learn to appreciate the silence Rouse me from hibernation to animation Rest from all the running with the rest I learn to appreciate the silence Veer off the beaten track but right me on my path Rest from all the running with the rest Space to think, play, hide away Veer off the beaten track but right me on my path All these are the gifts you give and more Viv Wiggins

9 Korission When the roads ran out We just kept on Found our way from Desert to forest to mountains to shoreline Heard the calls of Korrision Followed the hum round mazy dunes As the random scattering of Meadow plants occupied themselves In improbable glades. Thoughts had separated, threads had stretched As we tried to determine the radius of loss, Arguing the functionality Of time as a reaction against matter We try to find our fulcrum In the land where mathematics Once ruled over the mockery Of the pathways between. When the roads we ultimately found Time had lost us Shallowed our distance. We let our thoughts turn to the Dressing of windows, sweeping of bar-fronts As Georgios stirs with the slow unwinding Ticking and tocking Of a season unlocking Shuttered apartments Cautiously unfrocked Hire-cars’ wheels un-chocked… …and balcony dances Lip-locked James Oates

10 My Dreaming City In my dreaming city all the launderettes are pretty, the walls blocks of honest colour, green palms in pots in recesses, the orderly machines helpful, reliable, their size and brilliant enamel suggesting American teeth. I’m on my second coffee in the café in the Market Square, waiting for the dryer to complete its labours on my behalf. There is no celebration in this dirty weather, the Xmas lights persisting under a weak sun. All I am thinking is; ‘That gaudy tree is dying a long way from home.’ Ann Porro

11 May Your Goose Remain Uncooked Take a proper gander at what is fed to you. Those beautifully packaged seeds may tempt you in your hunger, but smell them before consumption. Inspect closely before you swallow, and digest v-e-ry carefully. Most of them will turn to shit. Jenni Pascoe


footprints in the snow bipeds, quadrapeds feathered and furred i smell fox! Amina Marix Evans

13 Miles to Go As the dusk eats up the sky I walk home with frustrations on my mind. Another compilation of tragedy oh, i hope it helps me, when i close my eyes and start my journey. With my deep sleep i travel, a mile… and miles to go… Such every fragment of my cloud takes me to a blissful height. Like the sand in my hand, i compile the tragedies, of this melancholic place. Wondering where this time these will take me…. Miles to go… Hoping my cloud would convey me somewhere astonishing. Mary Louise Roa

14 Skin Skin’s cage, which blends bone and vein into lock and key As mind acts as broken warden, raking cosh along bars In dark, dreams appear Loosening skin’s paw, setting hope for a time free As mind acts as broken warden, raking cosh along bars Blood fills limbs twisted by riot from confinement’s hold Cruelty is clay’s mould When skin guards love’s release, driving it into the mar Blood fills limbs twisted by riot from confinement’s hold While time trudges a sentence, imposing solitary The search for meaning Never clots, not until the last when bruised flesh falls cold While time trudges a sentence, imposing solitary All inevitably are ensnared raw by skin’s blunt claw Still, love may conqueror Skin’s cage, which blends bone and vein into lock and key Michael Hann

The Writers Crista Ermiya writes fiction and poetry, and is published in books and magazines including New Voices from a Diverse Culture (Penguin). She intermittently photo-blogs at Amina Marix Evans was born and raised in the south, lived a year in Australia and many in the Netherlands. Finally came home to roost. Grandpa lived in Fenham and Grandma was from St Bees. Michael Hann is a published writer, poet and journalist who contributes regular articles to NARC magazine and is one third of the King Ink collective, who publish zines and organise spoken word events. Michael McHugh has worked on TV documentaries, international development and community projects. He has written adult and children's poetry, poetry reviews and short stories, including one broadcast on BBC Radio. E.E. Nobbs is a mid-life poem-maker from Canada with a well-developed sense of curiosity. James Oates was first published in local newspapers in 1985, won the prose-open-category in the East Durham College Writer of the Year competition 1997. He was a semi-finalist in the Radio 4 Poetry Slam 2009. J.J. Pascoe regularly performs poetry throughout the North-East. She won both, 'Hexham Book Festival Poetry Slam’ and 'Lamplight Poetry Slam' in 2010. She also runs 'JibbaJabba', a monthly spoken word night. Ann Porro was born in Newcastle, studied law at Northumbria University and now works in a bookshop. She’s been writing and performing poetry for about a year. Mary Louise Roa is better known as "Louie" to her friends. She is a college student studying at the University of Makati, Philippines. She hasn’t taken any formal writing classes or lectures, she just really loves writing. Degna Stone is a Midlander in self-imposed exile. She’s also a poet studying creative writing at Newcastle University. She won a Northern Writers Award in 2010. Matthias Wienroth would like to be a poet throughout the week and an academic over the weekend. However, reality has seen fit to turn the world upside down. Viv Wiggins has loved poetry since childhood and has been performing for four years. She is one sixth of Monkfish WordTank Collective ( and a BBC Radio Newcastle 'Angel of The North'.

A poem a day… kind of Deseeded began as a Facebook group in 2009. The group was set up as a way of keeping in touch with the fantastic group of poets I’d ‘met’ during an online course run by The Poetry School (Poetry in Progress led by Polly Clark). Deseeded now includes poets I know from the Newcastle poetry scene and poets who’ve stumbled across the group on Facebook as well as the original PIP ‘alumni’. Every now and then I set the members of the group a poetry challenge – this January it was to write something every day. It didn’t have to be a poem a day (it could just be a few lines in a notebook or something scrawled on the back of a train ticket) but each week everyone had to produce at least one poem. At the end of the month I asked everyone to send me their favourite poem for inclusion in this anthology. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them.

Š Deseeded

Deseeded Volume 1  
Deseeded Volume 1  

Every now and then I set the members of the group a poetry challenge – this January it was to write something every day. It didn’t have to b...