Poetry

I have work published or forthcoming in various journals and literary magazines, including Mslexia, Popshot Quarterly and The Dawntreader, as well online at places like Words for the Wild, Sledgehammer and Streetcake. Here are a few of my favourite pieces.

Published in Footprints: An anthology of new eco-poetry – Broken Sleep Books
Published in The Dawntreader

The tiny owl found in the Rockefeller Christmas tree

Published in Nymphs Poetry
Published in Sledgehammer Lit. July 2021
Published in Streetcake issue 73
Published in Sledgehammer Lit. April 2021
Image – Vincent van Zalinge
Long listed for Paper Swans Press single poem competition 2020

There is a place where my thighs don’t matter

Image -ShutupClaudia

I have been building to this

for a year. Salads. Smoothies. Herbs

that don’t work.

Panels in swimsuits with skirts.

Hurry and heat thwart my elegant stroll

to the foam, where the shore meets the sea

where I cannot stand, because people

are thinner than me.

Shame hits my thighs as I wade

dip – let my shoulders remain,

lift my feet, feel power propel,

safe in the support of the swell.

Plunge down to where all limbs are equal,

emerge. Dive deeper again.

Published in the Freedom issue of Popshot Quarterly August 2020

Marcescence

Do you clutch them close?
Create your own cluster of Monarchs
waiting ‘til light to migrate – or
choose to fashion your mask
of joy, of false cheer
whispering fortifications
for flight.

Do you holler in hope that they’ll
heed you hang on
or let them go free as you stand
steadfast
bone naked but proud
tracking each fully formed flutter
as they spiral and spin to the ground.

Published on Nine Muses Poetry in Spring 2020

What I will wear


Two inches of feather shaped metal,

stickleback hued,

shimmer through hair,

redder than red again.


Twelve holes laced with purple ribbon,

black if I’m not in the mood,

power my walk, not traded for heels,

not now, not ever again.


Colours of Indian sunset,

swishing my ankles and heels

fool choice for tending the garden,

baking a loaf yet again.


I’m not going to wait till it’s over.

I’m not undressing who I am.

Fragile, intangible armour,

dressing for no-one

again.

Published on Pendemic – April 2020


A bowl of cherries

dolly mixture ballerina hedgehog birthday cakes but    you can      never  win the games      instant whip turkey burgers white sliced bread cut to bun shape      spilt orange squash            banana sandwiches just for me      won’t eat fish fingers wrong      still won’t eat fish fingers   wrong     still won’t eat fish    apples like old men’s hands wrapped in raw pastry     at least I like custard               I don’t like this custard          wrong        lunch box   wrong  sandwiches         wrong ringos                 wrong biscuit not a penguin  wrong  roughneck flask          wrong  coloured                  squash    then beanfeast in my room         of course I like it                                 and cornflakes mouldering     cornflakes       mouldering coffee mugs of shiny penicillin islands                        no I never had       chinese or pasta before     calculate round aldi seven pounds a week       no more      then      vomit on my travels and laxatives do work and fat  will (you love me)       melt away    ice cream    is the last  meal    you   beat                me through    I find a heart     I cook duck and             mexican fajitas and finally roast a chicken.      Now soup, complan, plenty of fluids          plenty       of fluids.    Plenty         of fluids      and I think there might be curled up sandwiches and cold sausage rolls and quiche because that is how we always end. 

Published as part of Mslexia’s Showcase autumn 2018

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Image – Kathryn Anna

View from Cook’s Beach

Panic slows

I watch the confidence of swell

wearing sand from stone.


I match my breath.

I remember my head on Mom’s chest.

I remember sea shells

stolen

from Whitby beach.

I match my breath.


Far off welcome swallows swirl

white horses swell

recede

and bees bob around Manuka trees.

I match my breath.


Out there,

sheets of blackening rain

move on

and still

I match

my breath.

The welcome swallow is a native of Australasia


A View from Cook’s Beach was first published in Saltwater zine in February 2019

Maiden Castle  features on Words for the Wild a gorgeous site brimming with poetry and short fiction devoted to the magic of the countryside. There are some wonderfully rich pieces of writing on this site, and I’m proud to be featured alongside them. 

Maiden Castle

Mist clings but does not soak
Breathe in and feel it spread like spores.
You cannot grasp. You float.

Turn to face ghost filled fields
spy the other path.
Mist clings but does not soak.

Needle whispers still come through and
curl round scuffed up shoes.
You cannot grasp. You float.

Draw up to all your three foot ten, feel
sparks run through your legs
Mist clings but does not soak.

Imagine that you are not seen
stare through the whisperers’ glare.
You cannot grasp. You float.

Mist is Latvian for home
yours is the edge, ahead, behind
Mist clings but does not soak
You cannot grasp. You float.

Kathryn Anna Marshall

I’m also venturing into writing flash fiction, and you can read about my recent publication here https://kathrynannasite.wordpress.com/published-flash-fiction/