A  poem from The Lost Box of Eyes:

 

 

a philosophical provocation

this tree is both an assertion and a dialogue

it is ambiguous and playfully sets out in branches

it is rooting too slowly to appreciate in inches

it is not just itself but also lichens and mosses

aggregate on its surfaces, and the spine of trunk

is a book of record in a way, and the flat leaf

a translator of light and air and water, a sheathe

of cares where a slaughter of aphids turn gunk

and tear into a million chews, or that tree frogs

may choose to hide beneath and snooze, or foxes

paw at when they parachute loose, and so this

is an interpretation, and that is all it is, a miss

heard call, a faint echo, an accumulation of

words sighing like leaves on a tree, or a stove

that is ready to cook the meal that's inside it.

This door is blind shut and we don't know it's lit.

 

 

This poem won a prize in The Arvon International Poetry Prize, and it was published in Poetry Review.

Poem from the anthology of Cumbria poetry This Place I Know

 There is an excellent exhibition of Sheila Fell landscapes and portraits at Tullie House until mid March 2025. It reminded me of this poem I wrote. 

 

unable to see the Sheila Fell landscapes.

 

 

Air dances the wings of Cherry leaves

so that green shakes about the white frowsy hair pinked in the midst

of upraised arms shaking like a child’s upbraided for walking

out onto a busy street

though it is restrained by an iron cage fitted about it and into the concrete

paving slabs diminishing what might be subtle yearnings

 

 

She has a patch, rather a coarse plaster, at her throat where

a piercing with a kind of stone is set in a wound

 

 

painfully healing. Her hair

that was wound up in a soft grey woollen towel is let down

so that what were flowers split apart and spill

about the slender bole out to the border-edges of the paving

 

 

where wall break stones tumble the corner of my eye

caught by the sleek grey of a wild cat turning away

 

Copywrite Alan John Stubbs

Published in THIS PLACE I KNOW, a new anthology of Cumbria Poetry, by Handstand Press,

and in the collection tomorrow is the tugboat of today by The Onslaught Press.

 

 

 

lost box of eyes collection available on Internet Archive

Free read lost box of eyes.

 

I have been told that anyone interested in my poetry can find my first collection the lost box of eyes in the 'internet archive' and borrow it to read free of charge.

I am delighted with this and have added a link to the archive copy below.

 

Lost Box of Eyes  

enjoy

New Magazine Publications (Since mid 2023)

 Just to say that i have recently begun to submit poems to magazines for publication again. 

In the November issue of Obsessed by Pipework are two of my poems, 'when she was belly', and 'beginners'. I have received the magazine and it is excellent. Well worth the cover price of £4.50.

The Dawntreader have also accepted 2 of my poems for an upcoming issue. 

I am waiting to hear back from other magazines and will let you know how things go.

 

Best,

 

Alan John Stubbs 

 

A poem from the collection sound about hot.

bats

overwinter the plums, all ignored
shrank to bat like husks
sleeping fixed to the branches
in the scraped light
dried out
they clacked dryly against each other
the wind tugging their umbilicals
disappeared wreathed in white early flowers
were found hiding in the profusion when
trees were reborn
these corpses of sweet ones
overlooked late summer’s swells are
changed utterly now
with skins
all of white spores and pin-head orange
eggs waiting
they are become both beginning and end
birth and death
 

 

 

Intent

 

 

 

In that tent was all I could need

and every morning a van came

delivering breakfast milk and eggs

not too early, I could lie in

recover from the night before, slowly

stretch my back into shape;

watch her condense air into fresh

shapes from the tip of nose and curl

 

 

of hair visible; consider the rucksacks

upright against the tent poles; listen

to the sounds outside this thin partition

of nylon, the grass swaying, the footsteps

of other campers cooking and swearing

as they waken stiff and unzip the day.

 

Alan John Stubbs - poet. Bio.

 About me:

I am a poet resident in Cumbria, UK. 

My poems have been published in various magazines including:

Poetry Review

Agenda

The Rialto

The Cannon's Mouth

The Dawn Treader

Carrillon

The Journal

I used to enter competitions and have been awarded prizes in the Arvon International Poetry Competition, Words on the Water, and was often  shortlisted in the Bridport Prize, and commended in many other competitions.

The Onslaught Press have published four collections of my poetry. These are:

 

the lost box of eyes

ident

tomorrow is the tugboat of today

sound about hot

 

You can find the Onslaught Press here The Onslaught Press

Hoping that you enjoy these poems, tell others, and seek out more.

Thank you for visiting this site.

Very Best

Alan John Stubbs