Poetry Drawer: End Of by Ali Hepburn

He was the worst person

who ever lived.

Languid silence brewed

between them, louder

than the everyday drone

of the dishwasher.

Tomorrow he will close the door

with finality, but today

weather the rain

of sharp looks.

Fault left a metallic

taste in the air,

stifling like petrichor

without rain; a November

thunderstorm musty and stale

with the scent of something


Light entered the window

at the wrong angle, always,

defying closed blinds,

hitting possessions scattered

like mocking props from

the lives they had enacted.

Grey words:

I can’t do this anymore.

Tea left on the counter.

Untouched. Tepid.

Pantry Prose: Sundae by Matthew Waldron

Mum and Sandra wear wide-brimmed, white hats, sun-blessed swirls; floppy folds like just-set meringues. Their long, summer dresses feature small floral print designs; leaves and flowers cascade, stall, twist upon tension points and light bodily sweat, pinch into something new, origami, fabric-style.  

Ian and I walk across the car park with Mum and Sandra, who both giggle conspiratorially behind us. Occasionally they speak in drawn-breath voices; rub-squeaked balloons, or amp up North-Western accents, drag vowels out; musical words on heavy chains tied to a rock. The tarmac reveals tiny oily pools, which bleed brown-black, erupt randomly upon the surface with lightning-strike cracks and filigree fissures; an over-baked cake. Steam rises in genie-lamp coils and question marks; school kids in back of bike shed tradition, exhaling from hesitant drags, laughter-gasping on Mum and Dad’s missing cigarettes.      

Minutes ago, James and I peered inside the glass domes of an ice cream parlour, as though the contents were precious jewels in a museum case; new, to us, a range of potential ice cream flavours to stimulate our senses. An accumulation of sweet scents combined in strip-light, hazy atmosphere; an opened, rust-rimmed honey jar; finger-squashed overripe raspberries; traces of cheap chocolate, tanged by silver paper wrapper; cardboard-y vanilla.  

Wall`s Vanilla Ice Cream was rare luxury for us at home; ice cream, much harder then, in both consistency and availability. Occasionally, I recall chocolate ice cream with a questionable cocoa content; Neopolitan, tricolour flavours suggested, rather than submitted authentic tastes. But now, right in front of us, Tutti Frutti – really? Rum and Raisin – what? Toffee Fudge, chunks embedded in marbled dessert, gold nuggets ready to chisel out with tiny teeth, teased by tantalised tongue, new for trial taste, lick delicately, rapidly, as though prompted by drought-dry mouth.

As well as a helter-skelter, ice cream run escaping from his castellated cone, Ian is entranced by cars. ‘Red TR7, Matt. Seen it?’ He points a Mr Men plaster-wrapped forefinger (always with the Mr Bump, my brother) towards the sharp wedge sports car. ‘Look, there’s a Capri over there. Bit like the one in The Professionals.’ Images: criminals, arms twisted behind backs, garage-greasy hair, stubble chins greeting bonnet, mouths of chip fork tine teeth, tar-stained tongues, post-watershed retort; traffic cones, dustbins, cardboard boxes, bags filled with mystery (air) struck by car-skid arcs, gravel spraying out like residual shotgun blast towards the stand-back camera crew member. Most of James’s excitement, however, was reserved for the quotidian: ‘Matt? Matt? Look! Blue Ford Escort…white Cortina…brown Vauxhall Chevette…orange Allegro!’ His relentless flicker eyes behind NHS spectacle-glazed daze; two electric blue damselflies sparkle, each trapped in their own oval of lapis lazuli.

I carefully lick at the ice cream, nibble initial taste of nothingness from chocolate nibs, crunch melt fragments on my tongue to produce a taste just shy of cacao gone vague, just a sugary representative. It doesn’t matter; it feels so good. My eyes blink, trap light, fuel fantasy to bliss, as I tease out a deep embedded chocolate chip; jutted, a loose brick from the remaining igloo shape of decadent dessert. The extra weight in my hand almost disappears. I open my eyes. The ice cream has fallen away from its soggy-edged host, leaving only a mint-green ring as a reminder of our brief, beautiful marriage.

Loud laughter emanates from Mum, Auntie Sandra and James; explosions from popped paper bags. I stare at plop dome-melt on road. My eyebrows arrowhead down, shoulders, hunch, fold; a rain-soaked Rook. I walk away; kick at the stick with scuffed-toe trainers, embarrassment and disappointment.  

Auntie Sandra unclips click-y, gold metal twins to search in her handbag. She picks out a credit card with her lightly freckled fingers, holds it up to us briefly, emphasises intention with a makeshift tool. Sandra kneels on the ground; I see thin, white lines radiate, send signals across her tanned ankles; imagine melted tar and hot gravel touch her knees; unwanted sticky kisses. Sandra carefully scrapes, lifts the mini-mound of dark chocolate chip-dotted, pale green ice cream, a melting sugary transfer left behind. I watch Sandra place the ice cream back on my cone, which, unaware, I still hold entrenched within my suntanned fist. Still angered with shock, cherry-pied with embarrassment, I freeze in sympathy with the remaining scoop of marble-melt flavours. Eventually with incredulity at Sandra’s action (is this grown-up behaviour? It’s not hygienic, is it?), reluctance relinquishes to acknowledge the gesture; I submit. Result: a broad, mint-choc-chip moustache, cold-lipped smile. My laughter like the last nestling, coaxed by an adult to fledge, soon joins them; a chorus of mirth.  

The first voice of rain, whisper-filled balloons appear, polka dot-pattern our path, shiny drops of satin, which sing quietly, evaporate, sigh; disappear.   

Inky Interview Exclusive: Visual Artist and Performance Poet Max Scratchmann

On the 10th August 2017 you will be performing at The Edinburgh Fringe with Rosie Garland, Hannah Raymond Cox, Andromada Mystic, Rachel Plummer, Angie Strachan, Carla Woodburn, Rebecca Monks and Taylor Swift 666 in a show called Poetry Bordello: Where Spoken Word Meets Physical Theatre. Fascinating! Tell us more…

As a visual artist, as well as a poet, I’m interested in producing and promoting poetry and spoken word shows which are more about theatre than just voice, and in the past I’ve experimented with using projections and animation in sync with live performers:

but, in this particular show, I’m combining performance artists with spoken word artists to bombard the audience with both a visual and verbal assault, plus hopefully recreate the atmosphere of the 1920s Berlin cabaret scene in a performance poetry setting. We’ve been planning this Bordello for months now and I’m really excited as we have a fantastic line-up of performers, from established performance poets like Rosie Garland, Hannah Raymond Cox and Rachel Plummer to newcomers like the amazing Rebecca Monks and Carla Woodburn, plus stunning physical artistes like the versatile and challenging Andromada Mystic, so it’s going to be a fantastic night all round…and we’re only doing one performance, so get there early!

As well as a performance poet, you are a freelance illustrator. Your client list includes Harper Collins, The Guardian, The Wall Street Journal, Manchester University Press, Bloodaxe Books and Naxos Audio Books. Can you walk us through your journey as an illustrator? Have you any advice for any budding illustrators?

I’ve been illustrating for nearly forty years now and I’ve been very fortunate in my career to have had a lot of clients who have been more interested in good and challenging art rather than bland happy-smiley images, so I have had the opportunity to create a lot of stunning visuals over the years. I always loved art and drawing as a child, and was obsessed with making toy theatres, so when I went to university in Glasgow in the mid 1970s and I discovered the Citizens’ Theatre and, in particular, the work of director/designer Phillip Prowse and the graphic design and illustration of the fantastic Adrian George, the rest was history and I was hooked! I decided then and there that that was what I was going to do with my life and I’ve had a fantastic time doing things like illustrating book covers for the work of people like John Ford, John Webster, Thomas Middleton etc. I also take my illustration work into the poetry shows I produce and I design all my own poster work and all the slides and graphics for our shows, plus the animations where I subject my performers to endless photo sessions so that I can transform them in mermaids and other exotic creatures on screen.

For someone starting out in illustration in today’s market I would say only do this as a career if you love it because it’s a hard life and it’s getting increasingly harder. If you’re a “painterly” artist like me you’ll get a lot of work from theatres and small literary presses, which is great fun, but doesn’t pay well. However, if you can produce glossy images of happy families eating cornflakes, advertising will embrace you and pay you well.

What is it you love about poetry?

Ah, poetry! Poetry is my passion and my life. As a teenager it was a vocalisation of all my adolescent anguish and anger (or so I thought!) and then in mid-life it became an oral photo album, recording multitudes of scenes and moments, a personal grimoire of tiny fragments of my life all carefully preserved in well-chosen words like flies in amber. Now I use it mainly to communicate with readers and audiences, mainly to make them laugh since I’m not young and angry any more, but overall to convey emotions and feelings and, dare I say it, messages.

What’s your secret to a good performance poem?

A good performance poem should be a monologue or a tiny one-act-play. It needs to be clear and preferably impassioned – the stage is not the place for tricksy metaphors and clever similes – and it needs to have either a strong message or narrative to engage the audience straight away. I’d say the more theatrical the better, but I hate poets who just jump around on stage for the sake of it. If your poem is real and genuine, that will come through in your performance, and there’s no need for histrionics.

Can you share with us a couple of your poems and the inspiration behind them?

Here are two. The first, Eulogy, is a performance poem about my Dad who I miss dreadfully; and the second is a ‘page’ poem that was inspired by a beautiful but exceptionally sad woman I once saw, who appeared to be enslaved by her husband.


They wouldn’t let me speak

At my father’s funeral,

Because, listen,

We know you that you’re a poet and all that,

But we need someone proper,

Like a minister,

To do this job,

And, anyway, you’d probably just get nervous

And make inappropriate jokes

At all the wrong moments.

And all this would have been fine


The minister who had known him all his life

Hadn’t died the previous year

And the new man,

Who’d met him, I think,


Wasn’t on holiday

And they’d brought in a locum

Who didn’t know him from Adam.

So I had to sit on my hands and listen

To my Dad’s life condensed to a paragraph,

No mention of all those good years in India,

Forty years dominating huge mills,

Gaining the respect of his workforce

As he strode down the riverside

In his pristine whites

at half-past five each morning,

Dawn mist still damp on his hair

As he rolled his sleeves up

To face each new day.

Or the hours he spent

Teaching me how to swim,

Elegant in the water for such a portly man,

And at nights

Letting me watch him in the billiard room,

The soft click-clack of snooker balls

My lullaby

And a gentle descant to the soft

Evensong of crickets outside…

And, of course, no mention at all of all the shit years,

Bouncing from crap job to crap job,

Finally dumped in that

So-called care home,

So riddled with cancer

that I thought they’d swapped him

for some starving street waif,

His signature red jumper

Hanging on him

Like a kid playing dress-up.

And, when they had the cheek to say

That he had gone to a better place

It was all I could do not to shout out

That anyone who knew him


That his place was at the stand

At Dens Park,

And to this day I do not like to think

Of some season-ticket-holding


Sitting in his seat,

Where, surely,

The groove eroded by his

Sensible shoes

is still worn into the soft wood floor

Of the patron’s area.

And I wish that I could have spent

More time with him

In the bleak years.

And I wish

That I could have been more like

The son that he’d imagined having,

Though he never,


Held that against me,


Most of all,

I wish on that steel-grey January day

I had just stood up in that church

And given him the eulogy that he deserved.

Because he wasn’t the Hero of His Own Time,

Or the Definitive Family Man

Or a Pillar of his Community,

But he was my Dad,

And surely that was enough.


The Lepidopterist’s Wife

He keeps her in the dark lest the light mar the brightness of her wings,

Her beauty pinned fluttering to a hard piece of

Beetle-black scarab board

In the heat of her killing-bottle night.

She is a plaintive melody

In scarlet and mood indigo,

Violet and burnt orange,

Viridian and sour cherry,

Her beauty the gossamer caress

Of invisible wings in the darkest night,

A silver trail of floating web

In a blossom-scented sunset,

Heady with the scents of Meadow Sweet.

But in her cellar prison she languishes in chains,

Every tear,

Every sigh of desire,

Meticulously catalogued and labelled

In row upon endless row of glass cases in the Lepidopterist’s museum,

Her life laid out in carefully recorded wants and indiscretions,

Misshapen specimens floating threateningly in formaldehyde,

Each wild occasion neatly annotated in his own precise hand.

Come, come, why the tears, we are not monsters,

Butterfly woman,

He says as he stabs her through the heart,

Again and again and again.

Come, give us this flesh,

This lock of hair,

This bit of blood,

Her life a living autopsy

On the Lepidopterist’s vivisection table,

Pulling out her entrails in bright red ribbons

That glitter in the early dawn’s grey light

As he bandages her still-bleeding body

And closes the cellar door,

Locking her in the dark once more

Lest the light dull the brilliance of her wings.

What themes keep cropping up in your writing? What do you care about?

I write a lot of poems about my own childhood, my parents and my relationships with them, funny poems about ageing and adapting to modern life and its idiocies and frustrations, angry poems about inequality and sexism, sad poems about people I have lost, whimsical poems about things like dog shit and crying babies and annoying phone lines and computers that set out to defy me and incomprehensible governments and illogical laws and procedures, and and and…..

If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?

Can I say get rid of racism, sexism and Donald Trump? OK, just get rid of racism and sexism, that should take care of Trump anyway!

Who inspires you and why?

People who mean it. I like evocative writers who can paint word pictures like Aimee Bender and Rosie Garland. Writers who speak with true clear voice like Arelene Heyman and Edith Perlman. Magical realists like Angela Carter and Salman Rushdie. I don’t like fakes. Writers who write for the sake of it, or because they read a good book once and want to rewrite it – you can usually spot them in the first paragraph! I’m inspired by genuine authors who write with passion and conviction. People who have stories inside them so pressing that they have to get them onto the page as a matter of urgency.

What are you reading at the moment?

The Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende. Breathtaking even in translation and I’m seriously contemplating learning Spanish so I can read the rest of her books in their original tongue.

What is next for you? What plans have you got?

I have a one-man-show at the Fringe this year, which is on the week after the Poetry Bordello, a collection of stories and video about my own childhood in the last days of British India – it’s called The Last Burrah Sahibs and corresponds with my autobiographical book of the same name. Full details here.

I’m also experimenting with more film work, both making my own and performing in other people’s epics, plus I’ve been doing some modelling, for god’s sake. Oh, and I’m still open to offers to fulfil my cherished dream of designing an opera sometime before I finally retire!

Inky Interview Special: Joy France: with Claire Faulkner

Can you tell us about your journey as a poet? Where did it all start for you?

It came out of the blue, and bit me on the bum nearly 7 years ago. Life hasn’t been the same since. At the age of 54 I wrote my first poem (a comedic one about Wigan pies) and performed it at a one-off event at the Museum of Wigan Life. It was a terrifying experience and I vowed never to do anything like it again. Seriously, I couldn’t ever have imagined what was to come next.

At the event, I’d met some lovely poets who told me about a regular Write Out Loud poetry open mic night at the Tudor pub in Wigan. For a few months, I lurked quietly at the back until one evening, some other “newbies” sat at my table and we made the sudden decision to perform. I read my one and only poem for a second time. It was still a terrifying experience but something had changed. I couldn’t say that I’d enjoyed it because again it had been terrifying, but I had to admit it was thrilling and I had the urge to push myself further – to see what I could achieve.

From that moment, there was no looking back. Whenever I performed, I challenged myself to conquer my nerves. I deliberately set out to scare myself a little more each time (trying to memorise my work, incorporating audience participation etc).

As my confidence grew, I started to go further afield to other poetry monthly nights across the North West. Although they were lovely and welcoming, I was surprised to find that the atmosphere at many felt flat in comparison to Wigan. Inadvertently I’d “cut my poetic teeth” at a full-on, raucous, fun filled, unruly, love it/hate it, quite unique night. The Tudor had a proper stage, lighting, a guy in a sound booth and a packed room drunkenly cheering and heckling with earthy yet clever wit. It was always unpredictable, unpretentious and welcomed the weird and wonderful. I fitted right in!

There was one aspect of those nights that turned out to be a major influence on my future creative path. Many people who had come to the pub for just for a drink got drawn in and discovered a love for poetry. Some of them even started writing and performing. I saw so many, like myself, transform and grow through the sharing their words.

Later on I found out that the Tudor was nicknamed “The Bear Pit” and I’m sure that if my first experiences there had been less anarchic and more sedate, then I would never have become a poet. The pub has sadly closed but the night continues in true WOL Wigan style, now based at the nearby Old Courts.

Nowadays I enjoy live poetry in all its various incarnations, but I avoid predictable or pretentious nights (there are a few around!). I get energized by those with energy and passion, where poets are encouraged to take risks and audiences are enthused.

Before I knew it, I was travelling all over the country headlining events, winning awards, slams, etc, and I’m still pinching myself. Family and friends are amazed at what I do. Once I’d stopped worrying about making mistakes and looking like a fool, endless possibilities opened up. For example, one highlight from last year was the Isle of Wight festival. As well as performing two sets on the Cirque De La Quirk stage with Verbal Remedies, I organised a flash mob and did pop-up creative activities with the crowds.

Truth is, the spoken word community is like an adopted family – totally wonky bonkers the lot of them, but they have embraced me and encouraged me to find my own voice and take risks. I am so happy that I’m now doing the same for hundreds of other people.

I can best summarize my poetry journey as being like Alice falling down the most surreal rabbit hole ever.

What inspires you to write and perform?

People. Life. Anything. Everything. From the tiniest thought or observation to massive things that seriously matter. I only share a small fraction of what I write because, well, I mainly write for myself.

For over 50 years I really believed that I had no creative talent whatsoever. All attempts at music, art, crafts etc ended in frustration and a sense of failure. I did appreciate and admire others’ creative talents in all its forms, but I just couldn’t imagine myself having any aptitude.

I worked as a teacher and for many years I ran a Pupil Referral Unit for excluded pupils. I brought in a range of creatives because I could see how the pupils engaged easily with the arts. I knew that when learning is fun, it can powerful – a path to empowerment and long term lasting change.

It took me a long time before I could describe myself as being a poet instead of saying that I dabbled and messed about with words. Coming late to this poetry world, it feels like now that I’ve opened the floodgates, I couldn’t stop writing and performing even if I tried.

Now I love that every day I help people discover their creative ability. Connecting with people in a meaningful way is essentially why I write and perform.

Do you have a set writing routine?

Routine? What’s routine? Seriously. Since giving up work a couple of years ago, life has been chock full of wonders, with no two days ever being remotely the same. I do “routinely” (as in every single day) enjoy the spark of spontaneity. People are always commenting on how many projects I have on the go at once but I’m loving it, so I say “Why not?”

I write whenever and wherever. Of course my muse is mischievous as I usually get my best ideas or words when I don’t have a pen or any technology to hand.

You’ve recently recorded some poems for TV adverts. How did you get involved with this? What’s it been like to see yourself on screen?

Like most creative things I have done, it came to me. Earlier this year four of my micro poems were regularly shown as ident adverts for ITV Documentaries sponsored by Nationwide Building Society. Currently two of my poems are heading their latest campaign on ITV, Sky, commercial radio etc.

The opportunity came via The Poetry Takeaway who are managing and casting for the Voices Nationwide campaign, they are representing the poets involved and are passionate that they are treated properly. The Creative Agency responsible were also fantastic – utterly professional yet grounded and fun to work with. I learned a lot. Throughout the process I had full creative freedom and they helped me raise my poetic / performance bar.

I believe strongly that poets should be treated the same as other artists, musicians etc. Unfortunately, many organisations still believe that poets should get little or no payment for their work. I’ve turned down work on the basis of ethics or personal principle and will continue to do so.

Seeing myself on TV is a bit weird but fine – though I genuinely get flummoxed when strangers stop me to talk to me because they’ve seen me on TV. I’ve still not figured out what to say.

Essentially getting poetry out to a wider audience is fantastic. I don’t mind if people don’t like my work. Nobody likes every kind of music, and poetry is the same. There’s something out there for everyone if they look. Lots of companies are using poetry to promote their products. This advertising campaign is getting real poets doing their own poetry to a wider audience. If families are sat at home discussing why they love or hate a particular poem, then that’s surely got to be a good thing? If someone sees one of mine and says “I could do better than that” – well that’s great. If they then have a go at writing … BINGO!

I love watching poetry slams. What’s it like to perform at one?

Terrifying. Exhilarating. Perplexing. Of course I understand why the issue of judging poetry divides people. If slams are viewed as serious competitions where the scores matter, I agree that they are a ridiculous concept, but that viewpoint misses, well, the point. In reality slams range from the sublime to the dire. They are a fun entertainment vehicle that provides a chance for poets to raise their bar in front of an unpredictable audience and panel of judges who’s scoring generally baffles everyone.

A badly organised slam is without doubt something to be avoided but luckily for me I’ve experienced some real corkers. Oh, and if anyone gets the chance to go to an Anti-Slam (where the worst, lowest scoring poem wins) then please do – they are simply inventive irreverent and hilarious.

There are a number of you tube clips showing you performing your work. I think ‘Mam’ is beautifully written. It’s incredibly moving and loving. Is it easy to share childhood memories like these?

Yes, I find it easy because whilst the poem calls on my own personal childhood memories, it’s also about the here and now. It’s about love. My mam is in her 90s and is an amazing inspiration for me and many others. It’s my most performed poem and I never tire of sharing it. It’s my most watched video online too and I think people connect strongly with it because it reminds them of their own much loved mams, nans, sisters, aunties, etc. Often people are moved to tears saying “I’m crying, but in a good way.”

One often cited quote seems appropriate here:

“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”

I also saw your poem (think it was called) ‘Trump, Trump, Trump’. Do you think your writing has become more political since Trump’s election? Do you think it’s important for artists to challenge what is happening in the world?

I can only speak for myself. I don’t think that poets / artists HAVE to respond to issues but in these most challenging of times it’s very heartening to see how many are. I personally have no choice. I am compelled to speak out. Whether it’s about fracking or miscarriages of justice, or whatever, I’ve now found my voice and I’m not afraid to use it.

“My words can comfort or amuse,

dig deep or brutally bruise…

I refuse to keep my words in.”

A link to my poem that contains these lines appears later in this interview. It’s my story. Take a look and you’ll hopefully understand why I’m passionate about what I do.

Oh – and there is a post-election rewrite of my Trump parody that I now regularly perform.

Can you share any details of projects you’re currently involved in?

My current post as the first ever Creative-in-Residence at Afflecks (Palace) has been my main focus for the last 20 months. Afflecks is an iconic emporium of independent sole traders. It’s been at the heart of Manchester’s culture (& counter culture) scene since 1982. I have set up a Creative Space there. It’s free to use and always open. It has transformed 100s of people’s lives, including my own. Take a look at Afflecks Creatives on Facebook to get a glimpse or better still visit – it’s a short walk away from Piccadilly Gardens.

A recent quote from a visitor: Afflecks is a place of wonder, but the Creative Space curated by Joy France is something beautifully unique. Frankly it is a bit of magic for everyone to experience. A hidden gem that 1000s of people (local and worldwide) will be recalling fondly and telling their grandkids about how special it was.

I’ve just counted up and I’m currently actively involved in well over 30 big projects. Here are a few:

  • I’m writing my fourth One Woman Show. It’s about my 4 month adventure trying to do 60 new things (low cost and through real people) before I turned 60. It’s actually about age, taking risks, stereotyping and attitude to life.

  • I’ll be expanding my own quirky take on engaging people with words creatively via a new series of ventures. Essentially I’ll be building and strengthening communities through creativity.

  • I hope to have a massive an exhibition about Manchester & specifically my residency at Afflecks

  • I have a documentary film team currently following me (eek) capturing me as a baby boomer who is living life beyond the normal.

  • I’m performing at festivals and taking poetry to places where it’s not normally found. I’m carrying on engaging with poetry haters.

  • Even though writing and performing poetry, running workshops etc will always be at the heart of what I do, nowadays I’m enjoying exploring new art forms. Mixing things up. Collaborating. Oh – and definitely carrying on stepping out of my comfort zone to scare myself a little or a lot.

  • Many of my plans are still hush but I promise they will be interesting. There are over 50 of them so I’m looking forward to involving many other people but again I’m likely only to share a few of them online.

What are you reading at the moment?

You won’t be surprised to hear that I always have several books on the go at once. In the Creative Space there are lots of books with advice or words of wisdom to young writers, penned by the authors and poets. I often do a “lucky dip” grab and indulge thing. Recent additions include several new collections from Flapjack Press. It’s fascinating seeing how poems I’ve only seen performed are transformed when on the page. I’ve never been interested in having my poems published as a collection. I’m still not sure but I’m reconsidering. Maybe a book of my thoughts / memories / ideas / prompts with a sprinkling of my poems might one day be “a thing.”

Would you share one of your poems with us?

This is a recently recorded version of the poem I mentioned earlier, about finding my voice.

Have you got anything else you’d like to add?

I’ve deliberately avoided mentioning anyone by name because there are way too many to mention and I would inevitably leave out key people. I want to say a massive thank you to all who support and inspire me. I’m so lucky to be part of the Spoken Word scene at this exciting time.

Also – thanks for asking me to do this interview as it’s given me a rare chance to take a pause from my hectic schedule and reflect. I’m now even more curious and excited, wondering where this creative journey might take me next.

So finally … I had so much fun doing my “60 new things before I turn 60” challenge that I’m carrying on my adventure by doing “61 new things in the year I turn 61” – Time’s running out.

Any suggestions?

Inky Interview: Author S.C. Richmond: with Claire Faulkner

Thank you for agreeing to take part in an interview for Ink Pantry.

Hello and thank you for having me. It’s a pleasure to chat with you.

Can you tell us how it all started for you? When did you become a writer?

I can’t put an exact time on when I started to write. I tried for many years to write a novel but I never produced anything I was really happy with. There were more pages in the bin than in my notebook and I struggled to put together tales that had a conclusion. I don’t think my writer’s voice was strong enough. Then about four years ago I started writing again and a story just flowed out through my pen onto paper and The Community was born. I loved the whole process and from there I was hooked. A while later I decided to publish my book as a gift to myself, as I had one of those milestone birthdays looming. From there I have never looked back, and now I find writing is one of the greatest pleasures in my life.

Without spoiling the story, how would you describe your first novel The Community?

The Community is a mystery and a love story that spans fifty years. It starts with a body being discovered in a local park, no one knows who she is or how she got there. Alexandra Price, a newbie journalist, picks up the story and is sure there is more to the story than just a woman dead in the park. She follows leads, symbols and tales from the older members of the town to uncover the story.

Meanwhile we meet Jack. He was born and raised in Charmsbury, but as a young man he had a hard time getting along with his family, and when he found the love of his life, his family refused to accept her. He was so heartbroken that he ran away from home and started a whole new life for himself with the help of his best friend Peter. He didn’t run too far and the community he founded was born. We follow his life through fifty years and bring his story up to date as he discovers he may finally be discovered.

No one could have ever guessed how life and love could become so intermingled as Alex and Jack work their way towards their destiny.

Do you plan to write any more in this series?

Yes, the second book Pictures of Deceit has already been published, and takes Alex on a trip across the globe as she tries to find answers to the disappearance of a famous art dealer.

The third book is being written now, although as yet it hasn’t given up it’s title to me, but I am hoping to have it for release in Sept/Oct 2017.

Do you have a set writing routine?

Unfortunately not. I would love to be that organised, but with a business to run, time can sometimes be short. I grab a little time here and there and always carry a notebook with me just incase I find a spare moment. Not ideal, but it seems to work.

What inspires you to write?

I write because I love to, and what drives me to write more is the reaction I get from people who contact me and tell me how much they have enjoyed my work. I write for me, but publish for them. The whole process is an inspiration, there is no part of it that seems like work. If I can offer relaxation and some escapism to my readers, then that’s all the inspiration I need to put pen to paper again.

You have also published an E-book of short stories. Do you prefer writing short stories or novels?

The easiest question so far, my preference is novels. I like to tell a story and let you get to know the characters. The depth of a novel is far more engaging to me.

As a writer, do you approach these formats differently?

Yes, very differently. A short story is something I sit down at the computer and write, no structure or intent, I just write, but there is no plan, generally they have started out as a warm up technique before I go back to the novel. I was lucky that I wrote a few that I thought worth sharing, but they are not my forte.

With a novel I write the first chapter with the same sort of approach, but once I have a starting point then I can start to structure it, and if I’m lucky I get to lock myself away for an hour or two in the evenings to just write. Another major difference is that my first draft of a novel is never put on the computer. I always hand write the first draft, it feels more personal.

What do you enjoy reading?

Mystery, suspense and a little horror. Stephen King, Carlos Ruiz Zafon and Agatha Christie are amongst my favourite authors. Before I started writing, these were my go-to authors, but since I have published my work I have discovered many really good new authors, but I still like the same genres.

What are you working on at the moment?

I am currently editing book three of the Alex Price series. It still doesn’t have a title yet but this story is a more personal one for Alex. It is also a much darker tale. I have enjoyed writing it every bit as much as I did the other two. I can only hope it will be as well received.

Where can we find out more about your work?

I’d love it if you’d like to stop by my website where all the information about my work is. There is also an experimental free story available there which is a collaboration with another writer, which will build chapter by chapter. Come over and take a look.


Do you have any advice for new writers?

Yes, if you want to write, then write, don’t worry about any of the other stuff. It’s really not going to be as difficult as you think, but first you must learn to believe that you can do it. Forget the rules and don’t try to be perfect, let your voice shine out of your work. There’s a million reasons (excuses) for giving up, but don’t fall for any of them, there are people out there just waiting to discover you.

Book From The Pantry: A Murder of Crowe: Something Wicked by Tom Barter: reviewed by Shirley Milsom

Gravel sprayed across the highway beneath the wheels of Maximus Crowe’s motorbike as it sped, far over the legal speed-limit down the London roads.

In Peckham, police cars surrounded a terraced house. The upstairs window was open. Police had set up a perimeter at both ends of the street to prevent any members of the press from getting in. DS Ambrose Rookwood’s calm, measured tones were projected through a megaphone to the upstairs room.

‘Julian, I want you to remain calm’ said Rookwood soothingly. ‘If you just put down the gun and come with us, we can get you help. This doesn’t have to end badly. We can make sure your wife and kids get the care they need. Look at them; you love them, don’t you? Well they love you. And we don’t point guns at our loved ones do we Julian? No. No pointing guns at loved ones. Okay Julian, we’re not going to hurt you, just listen to my voice, I need you to come outside and …’, the sound of Rookwood’s voice was drowned out by the growling engine of an approaching bike. Rolling his eyes, he lowered the megaphone and turned to see the figure of Crowe shooting down the street towards them on the back of his Ducati, his long, black Prada coat billowing behind him, Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC blaring from his I-Phone. Skidding to a halt, Crowe leaped off his bike and deactivated his I-Phone as the song drew to a close. ‘S’up?’ he asked, whipping off his shades.

It is fair to say that from these opening paragraphs I thought that this was going to be a book more suited to a male reader, as the description of Crowe seemed to be similar to the heroic characters of many a crime fighting film or novel. It would be so easy to picture George Clooney or Will Smith in that sweeping Prada coat whilst riding the motorbike and screaming to a halt at the Police perimeter. I would go even further to say that I needed to read a couple of chapters more before I was completely on board with the central character, and was even starting to identify with him.

Let’s start with the story-line. Crowe is an ex-policeman turned private investigator who is hired by the police to solve particularly grizzly series of murders of children in a village called Cantrip. These happened years ago and then stopped, and now it appears they are happening all over again. This time a child has been crucified upside down on a cross. Of course, this smacks of devil worshipping. In the guise of a journalist, he soon links up with some of the village police who seem to be very shy of speaking about the murders. Crowe meets with the residents of the village and wants to talk of the loss of their children, where he seems to be met by stony silence. That is, until he meets with the local ‘Lord of the Manor’, Baron D’Anton and his butler, Darlington, and the Baron’s daughter, Lili. The Baron has allowed gypsies to camp out on his land and it is rumoured that they may be responsible in some way for the recent deaths.

Crowe, who is full of bravado and character, often finds himself in awkward situations, but there is no doubt that he is on the side of good, and one always hopes that good will prevail. It is twisty-turny in its plot, and has you reading each page eager to get to the bottom of it all.

Tom Barter has a great gift for words, and he weaves a wonderful web of drama, mystery and intrigue in Cantrip, and he builds characters beautifully as the book progresses. This was, for me, a read which I began to warm to because of Tom’s use of prose. From there, it turned into something which was compelling and thoroughly enjoyable to read right through to the last page. I can heartily recommend it.

All rights reserved © Tom Barter

Inky Interview: Author Tom Barter: with Kev Milsom

Hello Tom. You’ve recently released a new book entitled A Murder of Crowe: Something Wicked. Could you share some information on this novel please and where the original inspiration came from for the characters and storyline?

Good to hear from you and thank you for reading my book! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Well it’s actually a sequel! It’s the second book in a series that I’ve started writing about the titular detective, Maximus Crowe. I knew how to finish the first book but I wasn’t sure how to get to the conclusion,, but my mind was bursting with ideas for future novels so I decided to write the sequel then go back and finish the first which will be coming your way soon! Whilst writing Something Wicked I was careful not to give away any serious spoilers for the first book which I suppose in terms of plot function will be a bit like the Star Wars prequels, minus Jar-Jar Binks of course.

Growing up, who were/are your literary heroes and biggest sources of inspiration? Also, what additional authors became endeared to you during your time at Liverpool Hope University, whilst undertaking your BA in English Literature?

As a small boy I thrived on the works of the Brothers Grimm which all children are introduced to via Disney of course. I read the original fairy tales via the Folio Society. Growing up I read Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, Edgar Allan Poe, Joan Aiken, C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Robert Louis Stevenson and naturally Roald Dahl, without which any childhood is incomplete and needless to say the same goes for J. K. Rowling. I read Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake when I was nine and around the same time became interested in many of the books already gathering dust on the family book shelves. I read Le Morte d’Arthur and also The Woman in Black and eventually found my way to the works of Arthur Conan Doyle. I enjoyed Sherlock Holmes and The Hound of the Baskervilles was an influence on my book, given the slight supernatural element and the fact that it takes place in the countryside, away from the city of London, which is the detective’s normal hunting ground.

At Liverpool Hope, my passion for the Brothers Grimm and Edgar Allan Poe was rekindled and I read a lot more of his work, including his ratiocinative tales. I tried to channel some of his dark humour and his talent for the macabre into Something Wicked. I also discovered Angela Carter and Truman Capote whilst at university, both of whom I became very fond.

Where is/are your usual, or favourite, writing location(s), Tom? Also, when making notes for literary projects, is your usual tool a pen/paper or a computer keyboard?

I write via the laptop in my dining room, usually accompanied by a pot of tea in the day or a bottle of wine in the evening! I have a separate folder where I write down notes or possible future scenes for whatever book I’m writing. I first started writing when I was thirteen and it’s a habit I’ve kept up since then. If I have an idea out in a café or bar or at a family member or friend’s house where I can’t access a computer, I’ll commit it to memory and hold it in the corner of my brain like a squirrel storing nuts in its cheek for the winter!

You’ve worked in various jobs where you have close contact with the general public. Has this been a rich source of creative inspiration with your writing? Are you a people watcher?

Sometimes, occasionally, but generally speaking I try not to be voyeuristic. Whenever I’m writing a scene featuring a character who will not be significant to the plot, such as a member of staff or passer-by, I try to make them memorably eccentric or at least recognisable as the kind of person whom one would encounter in day-to-day life. If it’s a bank-clerk or shopkeeper, base them either on a charming, funny or difficult and annoying person whom you’ve met in that capacity. It would be so easy to just say “a man” or “a woman” and have them say their lines as though reading off a script, but so much funnier or at least less turgid to make them a person whom you may recognise from your day-to-day life. My main characters are, of course, far too fantastical to be based on anyone I know!

Aside from writing, are you drawn towards any other forms of creativity, such as music or art? What do you do to relax you within life, to move you away from everyday stresses?

I enjoy listening to music and paintings and try to incorporate as many forms of art into my books, either as inspiration for characters or scenarios, or just for characters within the narrative to look at and relate to the plot. It adds to the scenery in one’s imagination and turns the book into a more aesthetic, and indeed, mentally cinematic experience. Nevertheless, I have no talent for painting and still less for music, though I still appreciate both art-forms. In order to relax in life, I’m drawn to the usual stuff; reading, film-watching, secretly plotting to take over the world, cooking, gardening, psychology, philosophy, long walks and getting into lengthy, passionate arguments with mirrors and inanimate objects, either at home or in public. You know, normal stuff.

Thank you for sharing your insights, Tom. To conclude, could you share some thoughts on present & future creative projects? What does 2017 and 2018 hold in store for you?

Well the prequel to Something Wicked will be headed your way very soon as indeed will the sequel. A Murder of Crowe is going to be part of a fairly lengthy series which has all been planned. And to quote Bette Davis, “Fasten your seatbelts!”

Inky Interview: Musician and Poet Simon Ross

Tell us a bit about yourself.

Six-foot-one, eyes brown, early forties, greying hair. No distinguishing marks; Art History and Film Studies graduate from Glasgow University; never considered that I could make a living from the kind of writing or music I make so I have mostly worked in office administration. I have three children: Amber, 17; Lily, 14; and Isaac, 10. Four cats, two dogs, one horse; lots of books and records. Moved from Scotland to Macclesfield eighteen months ago – the hometown of my partner, Jackie.  

Can you share with us a couple of your poems and the inspiration behind them?

This one is about the arrival of the ADP riot tour in Macclesfield last year. It was a conceptual art installation by Jimmy Cauty that toured the UK. It was a sculpture inside a shipping container of the aftermath of a serious riot. It was an attempt to get at the feeling I got from viewing it.  

Container Quartet.


The virus of the object – through the veins and arteries of the island – m23 a666 endless endless.

Arrival of chaos in reverse – its already happened – view the post action – rushes of what was.

Where were you, when were you, who were you, who you were, where you are, are you there

Hamburg sud

The mythic tour coast to coast incendiary Visigoth punk revelation – each town detonated on arrival city smoulders in fake fur and eyeliner – they can take it and use it. A hundred formations and reformations in the wake

K line

Let Freedom ride – going to further – figure of outward never looking back, can’t look back, blinded by vision – eternally reconstructing the fractured narrative until the clock stops and then opens the steel doors to find thirty stowaways suffocated and yet one flicks an eye open at the sunlight piercing the dead interior. The authorities give him a cup of coffee and let him walk away into the streets by the harbour – to begin telling the tale.


The audience autograph the star – national debris and albions psychic leakage document of end of euro trip and winning at go and the reduction to yes no for against impossible complexities of indifference and sullen obedience – insurrection contagion captured on highway CCTV– memory and memorial of resistance germ – shaped conscience with an uranium half life – before and after simultaneous arrival/dispersal.


This one is called ‘Hook and Removal’. I think this one is trying to get a feeling of a confusing dream – not exactly a nightmare, more a sense of being stuck in an alternative reality. I like the surrealist painters very much, so this is maybe something like walking through a de Chirico landscape.  

There is always an absence or maybe a blockage I can never decide

Approaching the resolution the film stops

The road suddenly ends

And there is nothing


Occasionally I feel a pull towards form behind or within the end

A subtle gravity

A revelatory attraction that I can never access


Empty stillness is what I expect but in fact it could be almost anything.


Let’s revisit the city, call it London, but it isn’t

Out in a zone devoid of history or culture

There is a river but no one talks about it.

There’s a commercial zone lock ups and railway arches

Cavernous interiors of a dubious economy


Wide streets with parked cars

People intent on getting somewhere else


There is a park with war memorials some of them still to be fought

School children in uniforms walk in twos


Back in the interior the light drips from a fissure in the ceiling

Pools of fading light ripple out and away – soundless light drips


Sudden faces lit up like carriages passing at speed at midnight

Eyes swivel in the death posture

Return to black


Even in the lightest times there can be a sense of this non entity

Weird sentinel of forbidden voyage

Wait, waiting

Unlikely final companion much delayed but elegant excuses

Offered – accepted and so begin.

What themes keep cropping up in your writing? What do you care about?

I have a box full of most of the things I have written in the last twenty years or so. I would say that themes of isolation, stillness and disintegration figure prominently. I am sometimes surprised at the violence in the images and I also have something of a preoccupation with death and altered states. I wouldn’t say I am particularly morbid or a sombre person, so I’m often surprised by what comes out. They are primarily internal imaginings and not much concerned with external descriptions. I like short sentences – space, quiet and movement. I care about the idea that language can be a means to solace and can, when employed in the correct manner, create a meditative insightful frame of mind – searching for the correct manner is an ongoing project.

As well as a writer, you’re a musician. What kind of music do you play and does it inspire your writing, or vice versa?

I like to play improvised music. For some reason, I have never been able to remember chord progressions and lyrics unless they are very simple, so it’s easier for me to play and see what happens. I particularly like playing in improvised groups. The exception to this is electronic music; software means it’s a lot easier to structure and to create and edit. In electronic music, I prefer to work alone. I have to admit that I don’t feel the music inspires the writing – perhaps I am trying to go after a certain feeling that music evokes sometimes, but not often; in that sense, perhaps music is more primary for me. One thing where there is a crossover is in terms of performance. I have been performing music fairly regularly for the last ten years or so but it’s only in the last year that I have been performing poetry on stage. I like the different expectations and anticipations of reading aloud to an audience. For the longest time my writing was only meant to be read so it’s been interesting to speak it out loud and learn more about what the poems might be about.

If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?  

War has to stop. I genuinely believe that if war stops everything that has been diminished in life and on the planet would be allowed to flourish.

Who inspires you and why?  

People who are unafraid to stand up for what they believe. Even when everyone around them is telling them it’s not working and the world seems indifferent to what they do – they carry on because they know they are right even if they can’t fully describe why. Artists that inspire me the most are John Cage, Charles Olson, Willem de Kooning , William Burroughs, Iain Sinclair, Richard Long, Lou Reed, Stanley Kubrick, Kenneth White… many others, but these ones come to mind first.

Tell us about one of the best days of your life.  

Meeting Jackie in October 1996. My whole life changed forever and for the better – twenty-one years later, it’s still changing in lots of good ways.

What are you reading at the moment?

I tend to read lots of things at the same time and I don’t necessarily finish all of them. Novel-wise, I just finished Neuromancer by William Gibson, and I have just started reading Kafka’s The Trial; I’m also half way through Orwell’s 1984. I don’t read a lot of contemporary fiction; mostly I try to work thorough great books from the past. In terms of poetry, I’ve been dipping into ‘Canterbury Tales’ (the un-modernised text) Blake and David Jones. I like to read philosophy and political theory too, so right now I am going through John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice, Nick Lands’ Fanged Noumena and a bit of Martin Heidegger, who I’ve been trying to get to grips with since university.

What is next for you? What plans have you got?

I want to continue creating and collaborating with others. I would love to set up an electronic music festival in Macclesfield sometime this year. Mostly I want to carry on moving forward and outward into new things.

Inkspeak: The Invention of Sand by Mark Sheeky



We glass sugar pieces
leap in old Syrian wind,
over countless ripples of red ochre, simmering
under yellow sunrays’ gaze.

A billion gemstone lives,
trampled by gawping camels,
unaware of the destiny of silicon;
its conquest of space.
Its conquest of biological life.

The Earth in warming rotation
heating the air, a solar hum,
warm and smoky, perfect
for the robot few,
which will out-perform civilisation.

We minions,
we dead flakes of crust,
of archaic skin.
Dust to dust.
The desert will win.

Mark Sheeky’s Website