Bert Flitcroft, "Seeing the Light"

 

Bert Flitcroft was born and brought up in Lancashire but now lives in the Midlands. He has three collections of poetry already published: Singing Puccini at the Kitchen Sink, Thought-Apples and Just Asking. His work has appeared in a number of national magazines. He is a prize-winning poet, has been Poet in Residence at the Southwell Poetry Festival and has performed at a number of national festivals including The Edinburgh International Book Festival. He was Staffordshire Poet Laureate 2015–17 and curated the on-line Staffordshire Poetry Collection. He has worked as resident poet with one of our "National Treasures," The Wedgwood Collection at the V&A; as resident poet with the prestigious R.I.B.A exhibition "The Road Less Travelled"; and recently as part of the University of Keele project "Labelling the Museum." He offers a professional mentoring service and has a long and successful history of running workshops and giving readings, not just to local poetry groups but in libraries, arts centres, gardens, galleries museums. His website is here. 

 

About Seeing the Light, by Bert Flitcroft

This book works as a collection from youth through to old age and all points between, recording moments and incidents when life and the world are suddenly seen afresh and with a greater understanding - Seeing the Light metaphorically as well as (occasionally) physically. It contains both serious poems alongside a few light-hearted ones which I hope will raise a smile or two. 

You can see more details about Seeing the Light on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection. 

From Seeing the Light

Headland

It's a strolling stroll along the rise and fall

of the rolling face of the thrusting cliffs

where well-fed seagulls squabble and swoop

and the Skua threatens to skua its prey

to the mounted weathered whalebone skull

longing out to its long-lost sculling kin

in their deep and wail and the score 

of their song and wave of the waves

to the gap and the cleft where the rock

stands proud defying the rock-and-roll

and the jiving swell of the surging sea

when the winter wind cuts colder than stone

and whistles its wildness and scorns

the clouds that scud and slide down

the black and blue and blustering sky

that roughs up foam-frothed crashing wet

in the caves at the shearing feet of the sheer

rock with its tufted pate speckled with nests

and gaping and gasping and desperate beaks

in the biting squalls of summer storms

and the screech and the swooping turn of the tern

with its stay-away warning scream and dive

that mean what they say to make children scamper

and adults scram from the peck and prick

the stinging cut and rip of razor-blade beaks 

the thump and grip of curled and angry claws 

on windmilling arms and paper-thin skin

from these fearsome sprites of the wild wild.

Bridges

 

This is my uncle Albert - all ginger hair 

and ears like saucers, that cheeky smile

as if he’s pinched the last chocolate biscuit.

"Not a bad bone in his body," I’m told.

"Wouldn't hurt a fly." This was before the war,

before the children he would never have.

 

Killed he was, parachuting in at Arnhem.

A bridge too far for him, he came down 

with a hole in his back the size of my fist.

This was taken outside the mill gates 

on Crimea street. Nineteen he was. A hero.

I bear his name and carry it with pride.

 

My oldest daughter’s settled now, at home

with the kids, with the steep green hill

and dots of sheep behind. She has his smile,

that hint of mischief. And that ginger hair

that’s crossed a generation.

In the end some bridges build themselves.

Fiona Theokritoff, "New Uses for a Wand"

Fiona Theokritoff is a poet and educator, with a science background. She lives in Nottinghamshire, and has worked as a Creative Writing tutor since 2017. She did her Creative Writing MA at Nottingham Trent University in 2019, and as one half of Wine and Words, she performs her work at book festivals and other book events across Nottinghamshire. In the 1980s, Fiona studied Ecology and Environmental Science, and went on to have careers in publishing and as a health practitioner. Her first book, New Uses for a Wand, was published in June 2024 by Five Leaves. Her work has appeared in poetry journals including Mslexia, The Interpreter’s House, Under the Radar, Ink Sweat and Tears and Consilience, a journal created to forge connections between the sciences and creative arts.

About New Uses for a Wand, by Fiona Theokritoff 
New Uses for a Wand is a book about transformation, from the way our world has transformed myths and old magic into science, to the transformations that we as humans experience: those we reach for and those that are thrust upon us. 

In this wide-ranging pamphlet there are poems about lapis lazuli, the Periodic Table, the James Webb Space Telescope, and about people being in love, growing old, facing loss and taking revenge.     

You can read more about New Uses for a Wand on the publisher’s website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection.

From New Uses for a Wand

The One Thing Brian Cox Taught Me

At the outer edges of our eyeballs,

184 million rod cells stand

ready for this low-light moment.

We are seeing stars.

The tiny lights hover,

we are bathed in photon streams,

two lovers full of whispered dreams,

starlight from faraway and forever

        star light

          star bright

        shine on my retina

                  tonight

A 13 billion light-year journey ends,

illuminates us   with a flash

of rhodopsin       workaday magic.

Ancient light is

        perceived,

        captured,

        persists,

                dances

            free in our eyes,

answering the lovers’ eternal question…

so it is true, that nothing        in this moment

has existed        in quite this way before.

 

Photosynthesis

          Magnesium  - Mg2+ - activates enzymes in phosphate metabolism. 

          Constituent of chlorophyll. 

Biology: A Functional Approach, MBV Roberts

The Magus takes centre stage,

and in his own limelight,

creates alchemy

with simple wandering players:

                             sunlight

6CO₂ + 6H₂O –––––––→ C₆H₁₂O₆ + 6O₂

Photons cascade through stacks

of green lamellae coins, exchange

one currency for another.

Sugar strings will become

coiled sugar rings,

a chorus line of can-can dancers,

energy locked in their sweet skirts.

Released, that sun-sparked flash

means a flower will bloom

a grub will feed.

Green blood throbs.

Silent Magus sits.

Catherine Ayres, "Janus"

Catherine Ayres is a teacher and poet from Alnwick in Northumberland. Her first collection, Amazon, was published by Indigo Dreams in 2016. She is widely published both in print and online. She has recently completed a Creative Writing PhD at Northumbria University, focusing on women living on Hadrian's Wall at the time of Roman occupation. She studied English Literature at the University of Leicester 1991-1994.

About Janus, by Catherine Ayres
Slipping through time over the course of a calendar year, the poems in Janus, like the two-headed Roman god, look both forward and back, charting the significant moments in an ordinary life. This collection is an exploration of those memories which "make circles / glint like birds in the light."

You can read more about Janus on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection. 

From Janus 

June 1983 - a weekend playing out with my best friend Emma

Oddbods

We embroider our edges with slow smiles,
tuck ourselves into home-made jumpers
and hide in our mothers’ expectations.
We are happiest in the avocado shadow of bathrooms,
turning over sea urchins with trembling hands;
or crouched next to French windows, listening
to a scratched recording of birdsong.
Our guinea pigs are called Monica - they are both boys.
We like our eggs hard boiled, our celery lined with salt.
We know how to use a soup spoon.
We do not understand posters; all our clippings
are pinned to floral wallpaper. Our bedrooms
are like conches, delicate and full of whispers.
(It is often hard to leave them).
Laughter clatters round us like knives falling in another room;
we are soft and solemn as Sundays and do not flinch.
One day we will live in the tree on the hill,
hang our horse brasses from its branches.
When our dandelion clocks swim like spiders
towards the moon, we will teach the teddies about Jesus,
serenade the cowpats with our favourite hymns.
It won’t matter that our dollies are lonely;
we will draw them close, wipe the tears
from their large, unblinking eyes.

April 2020 - lockdown

Mum

When I crunch down your drive
with some carrots, a wholemeal loaf -
unsliced – you stand in the garage
and use the remote to tilt its door

emerging slowly, feet first,
like a breech birth, or Darth Vader,
if Darth Vader wore Skechers, a John Lewis
top. For a moment, your face floats

then you step forward, submissive,
as if these groceries were the Host,
and I step back, as if your eyes
were metre rules. We’re silent,

ceremonious, a bit pissed off. Mum,
we’re more alike than I let on.
Behind you, in the kitchen,
there’s an awkward hug. Cheese scones.

November News 2024

We're now well into the second half of the Autumn term, and heading at full speed in the direction of Christmas, so it feels like a good time to share news from students and staff in the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. Lots has been happening, as you can see below, since our last news round-up which you can read here. 

Student and Staff News

Firstly, if you haven't done so already, do have a look at the guest readings and masterclasses we're hosting this Autumn. All of them are free to attend and are open to everyone - staff, students and public alike. You can see the full list here. 

The dates for this academic year's Literary Leicester Festival have now been revealed: this year's amazing festival will take place 19-22 March 2025. All events are free and open to everyone. 

As many of you will know by now, THREE of our current PhD Creative Writing students were successful in this year's prestigious Bridport Prize. Joe Bedford won first prize for the Bridport Short Story Prize 2024. Jane Simmons was shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize 2024, and Laura Besley was shortlisted for the Bridport Flash Fiction Prize 2024. This is an amazing achievement, and congratulations to them all! You can see the full results here. 

Congratulations to PhD Creative Writing student Kirsten Arcadio who passed her viva in October. You can read more about Kirsten's PhD on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Elizabeth Chell, MA Creative Writing graduate, has reviewed two new poetry pamphlets by Cathi Rae, PhD Creative Writing student, on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

The Mad Road by Laurie Cusack, PhD Creative graduate, has been favourably reviewed in The Morning Star. You can read the review here. Laurie originally drafted the short stories in The Mad Road as part of his PhD. 

New Walk Editions, which is co-edited by Nick Everett, has published two new pamphlets: Polly Walshe’s Silver Fold and Graeme Richardson’s Last of the Coalmine Choirboys. You can see more details on New Walk Editions' website here; and you can register here for the free online launch reading by both poets at 7pm on Wednesday 27 November.

Tracey Foster, MA Creative Writing graduate, has reviewed The Gallows Pole by Benjamin Myers for Everybody's Reviewing here, and The Mirror and the Palette: Rebellion, Revolution and Resilience by Jennifer Higgie here. 

Congratulations to PhD Creative Writing student Kathy Hoyle whose story "Cockleshell Girl" has been nominated for Best of the Net 2025 by South Florida Poetry Journal. You can read the story here. 

One of the key remits of the Centre for New Writing is an interest in interdisciplinary approaches. Felicity James is currently working both for the Centre for New Writing and the Stoneygate Centre for Empathic Healthcare to investigate how reading and writing can encourage and maintain empathy. Her role is to help embed Creative Writing and reading literature in the medical curriculum at Leicester. With Marianne Scahill-Pape from Attenborough Arts, she ran a special subject for fifth-year medical students in 2024, featuring art, Creative Writing, and Romantic, Victorian and contemporary literature. Their report on the course, "Creative Approaches to Empathic Healthcare: The Polyphony," has now been published, and you can read it here. 

Welcome to Maisie Ridgway, who has recently joined us as a Leverhulme post-doctoral research fellow. Her project is entitled "Coal Ecologies: Inscription, Inheritance and the Anthropocene."

Congratulations to MA Creative Writing graduate Karen Rust, who is now Festival Curator of the Oundle Festival of Literature. 

Sally Shaw, MA Creative Writing graduate, has reviewed Ghost Town by Jeff Young for Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Jonathan Taylor's memoir, A Physical Education: On Bullying, Discipline & Other Lessons, was published by Goldsmiths Press in September. You can read more about it on Creative Writing at Leicester here. Jonathan has also recently published related articles about bullying in The Times Higher here and The Morning Star here. Sally Shaw, MA Creative Writing graduate, has reviewed Jonathan's book for Everybody's Reviewing here. Jonathan will be reading from and talking about his memoir, along with author James Scudamore, at Five Leaves Bookshop Nottingham, on the evening of Monday 25 November from 7pm. Everyone is welcome. You can see more details about this event and book a place here. Jonathan also interviewed poet Louise Peterkin for Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Congratulations to Harry Whitehead, whose novel White Road has been contracted to publish in September 2025 in print by Claret Press and audiobook by WF Howe. 

 

Polly Walshe, "Silver Fold"

Polly Walshe is a poet and painter. In recent years her poems have appeared in Acumen, Pennine Platform, PN Review, The London Magazine, 14 Magazine, Shearsman, The High Window and The Spectator. She was longlisted three times in the National Poetry Competition, in 2019, 2020 and 2022. In 2019, a selection of her poetry featured alongside Melissa Ruben’s paintings in the exhibition Night Vision(s) at the Atlantic Gallery in New York City, and in the same year she won the Frogmore Prize. Her novel The Latecomer was published by Random House in 1997 and won a Betty Trask Award. Silver Fold is her first pamphlet of poems.

The pamphlet is published along with Graeme Richardson’s Last of the Coalmine Choirboys by New Walk Editions, which is co-edited by University of Leicester Associate Professor of American Literature and Creative Writing, Nick Everett. Register here for the free online launch reading by Polly Walshe and Graeme Richardson at 7pm on Wednesday 27 November.

 

About Silver Fold, by Polly Walshe
We are always starting out – from ourselves and our pasts, from our own words and ideas. The poems in Silver Fold are preoccupied with how far from ourselves we can ever get, and with our struggle to make words say the fresh things we constantly need them to say.

You can read more about Silver Fold on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection. 

From Silver Fold

Bridge Building

The day they came to take the phones away
Was a revealing one. Some threw devices

Into hoppers happily, lobbing them high,
Watching them fall with a whoop. Others tried

To bury, cancel, download, go AWOL. All
Pointless. The signals were dying

And the servers had combusted. Myself?
Loved it, hoped all the long-ago winters might

Return to us, the looking-at-faces, the nothing-
To-do, the night in our horses’ manes,

The bright law of the morning. We’d be
Building a bridge into space as we were meant to,

We’d laugh as we laughed once, like a river
Rising for no reason, scarcely contained –

For a few seconds fearsome, then drawing back,
Earth different, small stones rearranged.


Moving to the Coast

Don’t think of moving to the coast
Since everything you need is here.

Cars rushing by make an evening tide
And there’s something of the wharf

About these traffic lights. Gulls swarm
Behind our bin lorries on collection day

Then politely disperse.
Gulls by the sea are known to be worse.

However far you go you’ll never feel,
Sufficiently, there. Why trouble yourself?

Rumours of a better place won’t stop
But every halt has empty shops

And dummkopf men in secret clubs
And the lonely women they fear.

The painful laughter of those women
Clatters forever everywhere. They yearn –

The women and the men – for gestures
From an unconventional god

Yet find it hard to think
That Being’s bird might sing

Along this landlocked street
In preference to Scarborough or Deal

Or any flaking crust shored up
Against the indecision of the sea.

Coast is the ravelled edge of time.
It’s where you are.

Helen Ivory, "Constructing a Witch"

Helen Ivory is a poet and visual artist. She edits the webzine Ink Sweat and Tears and teaches for Arvon and the National Centre for Writing Academy. She has published six collections with Bloodaxe Books. The most recent, Constructing a Witch, is a Poetry Book Society Recommendation (2024). Fool’s World, a collaborative Tarot with artist Tom de Freston (Gatehouse Press), won the 2016 Saboteur Best Collaborative Work award. A poem from her chapbook Maps of the Abandoned City (SurVision 2019 ) was selected as Poem on the Underground, and Wunderkammer: New and Selected Poems was published by MadHat in the US in 2023. Her work has been translated into Ukrainian, Polish, Spanish, Croatian and Greek for Versopolis. In 2024 she received a Cholmondeley Award from the Society of Authors, an award recognising the achievement and distinction of individual poets. 

About Constructing a Witch, by Helen Ivory
Despite the Devil being conceived to direct human baseness away from our goodly selves, there has always been sin in the world. The Bible has it that woman is the weaker vessel, therefore her inferior ways could easily let the Devil into the house, and into her oh so corruptible body – and thus the story begins.  

Helen Ivory’s sixth collection Constructing a Witch fixes on the monstering and the scapegoating of women and on the fear of ageing femininity. The witch appears as the barren, child-eating hag; she is a lustful seductress luring men to a path of corruption; she is a powerful or cantankerous woman whose cursing must be silenced by force.

These bewitching poems explore the witch archetype and the witch as human woman. They examine the nature of superstition and the necessity of magic and counter-magic to gain a fingerhold of agency, when life is chaotic and fragile. In the poems of Constructing a Witch Helen Ivory investigates witch tourism, the witch as outsider, cultural representations of the witch, female power and disempowerment, the menopause, and how the female body has been used and misunderstood for centuries.

You can read more about Constructing a Witch on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection. 

From Constructing a Witch

Some definitions of Witch

 

Carcass of rags

the dead-rat stink of old milk.

A beyond the pale beggar,

runt of the litter.

*

Gleaner of herbs

hallower of the compass.

Cunning hedge rider,

measurer of fire.

*

 

Midwife of shadows

low vixen with blood on its maw.

Deliverer of silence 

to the henhouse.

 

*

 

Lighter than a bible,

priestly ink is gravity

beneath her flying feet.

Her body writes into the sky.

 

*

 

Blended with the earth

she wears a moss cloak.

Some procure her remedies.

She is a scapegoat for bad luck.

 

*

 

A childless wraith

in a child’s picture book.

The worst mother 

man ever invented.

 

*

 

The method of kettling 

troublesome women.

A peck of black pepper

in the milk-and-water blether.

 

*

 

Practitioner of forgotten ways;

of rituals, sayer of spells.

Barefoot earth-listener,

older than God or television.

 

The Gift

There once was a lonely woman who replaced her heart with an apple. She took a sharp knife and engraved her name in its freshly shined skin, and those of the names of these spirits: Cosmer, Synady, Heupide. She stood in the middle of a bridge as the wind heaped bright dying leaves about. She balanced the apple in the palm of her hand, but nobody came for her love. And the earth moved through the seasons, and still nobody came. This carried on till the apple resembled some devil they say, and the woman herself had transmuted to dust.

One day a quiet pandemonium emanated from the apple and the townspeople hid behind themselves, too cowed to approach. A man stepped from the crowd with the air of a judge. He decreed that indeed, the apple was infested with foul spirits, and pitched it into the river with his long-legged boot.