Monthly Archives: October 2009

‘me and janine, vickers shipyard, barrow-in-furness, 1973’

Geraldine Green is a Cumbrian poet whose work has been anthologised in the United Kingdom, North America and Italy. As well as having two poetry collections published by Flarestack, The Skin (2002) and Passio (2006), her work has appeared in Tears in the Fence, Orbis, Seventh Quarry, Poetry Cornwall, Smoke, Rain Dog, Citizen 32, Neon Highway, Envoi and Obsessed with Pipework.
She’s read at diverse venues in the United Kingdom, North America, Greece and Italy, including the Bowery Poetry Club NYC, Wordsworth Trust Grasmere, International Women’s Arts Festival Kendal, Woody Guthrie Festival Oklahoma, Dylan Thomas Centre Swansea, Colony Café Woodstock, River to River Festival Beacon, NY, Poetry on the Lake Orta Italy, Apples and Snakes Kendal and Falmouth, Rooftop Celebrates! Skiathos Greece, Smalls Jazz Club and Cornelia Street Café, NYC, as well as Solfest Cumbria, Poetry in the Park Albany NY, Everyman Theatre Liverpool and the University of Connecticut, Branford House. She’s been lucky enough to have had her poetry backed at WoodyFest by the wonderful music of David Amram.
Currently completing a PhD in Creative Writing Poetry, Geraldine is Associate Editor of Poetry Bay magazine and Associate Editor (UK) of
Find out more about her on poetry p f.
me and janine, vickers shipyard, barrow-in-furness, 1973
Geraldine Green
legs swinging and us licking ice creams on the sub dock
our platform shoes cool and wonderful and the men
whistling and shouting hey love, gi’e us a lick!
and when we turned and gave them you know a
sidelong look they laughed but me and janine we
knew they didn’t mean anything by it they were just
joshing so anyhow we sat there with our ice creams
trickling down the side of the cones golden and crisp
the flakes falling onto our mini skirts and we knew
we’d have to go back in soon but the day was warm
it was warm it was summer and we were seventeen
we looked good and we knew it and we loved it when
the sailors came in foreign submariners from argentina
israel the middle east and russia listening to their funny
accents and they came here to vickers to board their subs
and them other subs being built alongside our own ‘revenge’
and ‘resolution’ and them going on patrol in the baltic or
the pacific and me and janine dreaming of smuggling
ourselves on board to wake up in a foreign port
somewhere which was just about when the hooter
would go and we had to go back in to our dusty offices
on the sub dock with the sun blocked out and tippex and
pens and a deep pile of papers with typos to correct.

Jocelyn Page’s ‘Pufferfish’

Jocelyn Page is a poet from Connecticut, USA, who currently lives in South East London. Her work has appeared in Smiths Knoll, The Interpreter’s House, City Lighthouse anthology (Tall Lighthouse, 2009), and on various music websites including the Royal Philharmonic Hear Here project. In 2008 her work was Highly Commended by The New Writer Prose & Poetry Magazine. Her debut pamphlet will be published in 2010 by Tall Lighthouse.
Jocelyn Page

You’re on your way to the mall
to an air-conditioned day
where customers will be right
& you’ll need to ask a manager
to authorize any refund, when driving
through that octopus of an intersection
where you’re always surprised your light’s green
you’ll see his car & your bowels’ll prickle
then swell like a pastry bag prepped to pipe
you’ll see someone else where you used to be
that spot in the car that was yours
like the chair at the dining room table
where Dad always sits & nobody else
would even think of sitting there.
& she’ll be in the middle of that bench seat
next to him, the stick shift denting her thighs
& you’ll drive by, changed.
It’ll be with you then, you’ll carry it
like a terminal diagnosis
all nine hours of your shift
& between sales it’ll dwarf you
at the cash register it’ll hide
& in the stock room you’ll feel faint
all day long it’ll loiter
like a pufferfish, ready to flood itself
big onto the scene or rest alert
behind the treasure chest
small, ready & all about the poison.
Read more of Jocelyn’s poetry here and here.