New Boots Reboot, 1: G.B. Clarkson

lemonjim hour: brittle england

the muse, here to amuse, brings a clock.
my hands and brain are chapped from taking her notes.
glimquist and sunkissed on a burgundy chaise longue
she turns phrase after phrase on the lathe of her tongue
and flutes, drills, planes, until she produces
five flights of solicitor’s banisters to snake down the staircase, hemming me in and
she is truth-pillowing everything out so that I’m breathing as
shallow and stinky as bathwater, anemone-blind, choking on her alien
mouthwash as she bats me from pillar to post, copper-manic, feeding me what she calls
ilk milk, squeezed from cliffs of dover: she a sovereign autonomous rose, till she drops
like a poppy, one ochre petal for each bong of the clock at tea time, drumming the carpet
with glee

G.B. Clarkson’s poems have appeared in Poetry, The Poetry Review, Poetry London, Ambit, and Magma, and in anthologies including The Best British Poetry (Salt Publishing, 2014), The Poet’s Quest for God (Eyewear, 2016), Furies: a Poetry Anthology of Women Warriors (For Books’ Sake, 2015), and This Line Is Not For Turning: An Anthology of Contemporary British Prose Poetry (Cinnamon Press, 2011); as well as in the Daily Mirror and The New European. They have also been broadcast during the BBC Radio 3 Proms series. She has two pamphlets – Declare (Shearsman Books, 2016) which was a PBS Pamphlet Choice, and Dora Incites the Sea-Scribbler to Lament (smith|doorstop, 2016), a Laureate’s Choice.


Poems for Purdah: Christy Ducker

The Enemy

It wasn’t that we had grown complacent,
in fact we’d had quite a difficult time,
but the wound was so large and demanding
we had to tend to that. It was only
later we noticed the change of pressure,
that something had come in and squatted us.
It stopped our mouths with what appeared to be
a thin film. We couldn’t puncture the stuff.
The usual strategies wouldn’t work.
We heard someone on the radio change
the word ‘rules’ to the word ‘witchcraft’.
We tried to learn quickly about the law.

Christy Ducker is a poet and tutor. Her first full-length collection, Skipper, was published in 2015, and includes work commended by the Forward Prize judges. Her pamphlet, Armour (2011) was a PBS Pamphlet Choice. Her commissions include residencies with Port of Tyne, English Heritage, and York University’s Centre for Immunology and Infection; she is also the director of North East Heroes, an Arts Council England project. She is currently working as a research fellow at Newcastle University’s Institute for Creative Arts Practice.

Poems for Purdah: Paul Summers

the sleeper wakes

it is almost

drown out
by the drone

of our shopping
channel juicers

the bleat of our trauma
our narcissist blurt

the quiet slaughter
of the fattened poor


to my kingdom

to the fag-end
of its progress

a slow-mo flash-fire
of bubbling tar

consuming the fibres
of jaundiced filters

this autumn air
our breath incendiary

we live off fear
& borrowed hate


& nothing
will grow

in the shadow
of our romance


way off-camera
beyond the reach

of news cycles
& investigative minds

the death toll is rising
the body count grows

bruised hearts
& airless lungs

clogged arteries
& petrified tongues

passion corroded
empathy eroded

asphyxiated dreams
statistics & lies

& god is dead
the faithful fucked

their currency
devalued or defunct

our father. oh father
grant us each day

our daily pills
our snidey tabs

our red-tops
& the strongest drink

our multipack crisps
our poundshop ket

our smack & crack
our poppers & skunk

deliver us our bargain hunt
& the great british bake-off

imprison us with labels
cage us in our minds


we live off fear
& borrowed hate

i will smear my cell
with dogma & lard

unleash a plague
of thankless hope


it is almost

through the drone
of this chatter

the movement of traffic
the transit of hours

the rumble of hunger
the hiss of the rain

the dirge of defeat’s
monotonous refrain

durer’s horsemen
braying at the door

the quiet slaughter
of the fattened poor

Paul Summers lives in North Shields. His last couple of books are Union (New & Selected) & Primitive Cartography. His latest collection Straya appeared in March 2017. (All titles with Smokestack Books.)

Neu! Post-Truth Poetics DAY TWENTY-FOUR – Return To The Valley Of The Squibs

Kate Noakes
The Fake Beetle

always flounders and, limbs akimbo
falls from his ball of dung.

At night he tries navigation by the stars
but, fixed in their firmament, they do not
stoop, or aid, or grace his stage.


Stephen Barnaby
Securing of Borders in 50 Words

Experts analyzing the backgrounds of those responsible for terrorist outrages in this country have found one indisputable factor linking them:

They are all from Planet Earth.

Consequently, for the safety of our nation, it is clear that only one group of individuals should be allowed to become Legal Aliens:



Finola Scott
Not Me!

Mum used to wash my sugar-coated mouth
if I told of biscuits not stolen. Later scrubbed
lies slipped easy from lips foam-frothed.
I’m not alone. Politicians smoothly talk
of lowered taxes, increased spending,
benefits extended, expenses not fiddled.
Thing is, at least I’ve got
my mother to blame.

Kate Noakes sixth collection is Paris, Stage Left (Eyewear, 2017). She was elected the Welsh Academy in 2011 and her website ( is archived by the National Library of Wales. She lives and writes in London and Paris.

Stephen Barnaby has two pamphlets of Fifty Word Epics via Calder Wood Press and Vlad the Impaler Press: a collection of longer pieces I Never Realised It Was As Bad As That, will be published in April by Postbox Press. To his astonishment, he recently illustrated Alan Gay’s poetry collection Habitus.

Finola Scott’s poems are widely published online and in print including in The Ofi Press, Raum, Dactyl, The Lake, and Poets’ Republic . Her work is included in many anthologies, most recently in Aiblins and Umbrellas of Edinburgh. She has also been selected for the Clydebuilt mentoring scheme.

Capitalism Stops Play (Temporarily)

Due to a coincidence in our work schedules meaning both editors will be away next week, New Boots is just resting for seven days but not actually pining for the fjords. Hopefully, there will still be a world to return to when we plan to resume posting.

So please do continue to send in lots of poems about the madness of Imperator Trumpo, the impulse cruelty of PM M, and the jolly japes of laughable faux FO Sec BoJo.

If any of these issues have affected you, send to azjackson65 at gmail dot com, or contact me by direct message on Effbok or in Much Twittering.

In the meantime, here is a pic of Trumpo being punched by Polar Bear Number Six (the one that shouts ‘I am not a number, I am a free polar bear!’ while, in Mexico City, the ghost of Carrie Fisher devours Devilled Brains of Bannon.


Neu! Post-Truth Poetics DAY TWO – George Szirtes 


Hail to the chief blatherer blusterer, hail!
Who speaks for The People
Like a dog speaks for its tail
Like the whaler speaks for the whale
Like the hammer speaks for the nail
Like the sewage speaks for the pail



George Szirtes’ most recent book, Mapping the Delta, was published by Bloodaxe Books in 2016. It was a Poetry Book Society Choice. His blog can be found here.