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popshotPOETRY + ILLUSTRATION MAGAZINE THE WONDER OF THE ORDINARY

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In a world filled with complex distraction and the avid appreciation of filling time, sometimes it’s easy to overlook the most ordinary objects and happenings. So blinded are we, by television screens bigger than our houses, houses bigger than our wildest dreams and wildest dreams bigger than our heads, that those smaller details can go un-noticed. And that’s what this issue is all about - the wonder of the ordinary. The celebration of the ‘everyday’. The metaphorical equivalent of spending a whole day ironing your undercrackers and euphorically enjoying every minute of it.

Upon closer observation, everything that nestles on this odd little planet hosts the ability to be fascinating if truly given the time to observe it. Each poem chosen for this collection of pages shares this one thing in common - the recognition of those smaller things that can tend to quietly pass us by. However, please don’t make a dash for the toilet bowl in anticipation of a sickening onslaught of how brilliant the 60W bulb is. It’s not quite like that. In fact in a few of the poems, wonder finds the strength to swing to the other side, beautifully highlighted in ‘I Could Murder Martin’ on page 26.

So, in this issue we commemorate the mug, examine the effect of wearing sunglasses and sympathise with the car mechanic. We look at the laborious life of a washing up brush, happily accept the detachment from the chocolate biscuit and marvel at a woman called Barbara. So you can take your big old television screen and hurl it into the toilet bowl - ordinary is the new extraordinary.

Finally, a walloping thank you to every poet and illustrator who helped fill the pages of this issue with their time and creativity. It would be a rather empty magazine without you.

Thanks for reading.

Support your local poet.

EDITORIAL _

THE WONDER_OF THE ORDINARY_

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It is appreciated that instructing people on how to read a maga-zine is possibly one of the more ridiculous concepts that’s been invented in recent years. But in the interests of the following pages not flying straight over your head, it seems like a good idea - especially when it comes to poetry.

Firstly, this magazine does not benefit from being skim read. Attempting to read poetry quickly and without full attention or patience is futile. So take a moment.Make yourself a cup of tea or find a suitable biscuit. If you’ve just eaten, then perhaps consider undoing a top button or finding a looser fitting garment. Do not read this if you need the toilet, if you are meeting someone in 3 minutes or your mind is consumed with thoughts of tomorrows sandwiches or yesterdays episode of Grand Designs. Poetry is an art form that needs complete attention.

So read slowly and think about every word, virtually every single one that graces these pages has been weighed up and is there for good reason. Each poem has a short description of itself, to help bring the poem to life. Most of the time, a whole new dimension of meaning can form, once you know when and why it was written. We hope this makes it easier to relate to.

If after reading the magazine, you are particularly inspired to let us know your thoughts, whether good or bad (although hopefully constructive) please drop a few well chosen words to hello@popshotpopshot.com.

_HOW TO APPRECIATE THIS THING

_A SLIGHTLY OVERUSED TRIBUTE TO ADRIAN MITCHELL

MOST PEOPLEIGNORE MOST

POETRY BECAUSEMOST POETRY

IGNORES MOSTPEOPLE

_Adrian Mitchell - Poet - 1932 - 2008

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_WHAT IS IT TO WRITE?

poem by Nikita Shpilbergillustration by Zoe Regoczy

What is it to write? To delight In Innards as they spill out With a prick of a pen onto the page. And become beautified outtards. Metaphorical eviscerations. Because writers are retards. Doing the job of augurs. And ogres too.

_____What Is It To Write is a playful commentary on the process of composing poetry and a rather hilarious take on putting your ‘all’ into it.

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_NUBILOUS JUBILOUS

poem by Jan Harrisillustration by Emma Hanquist

Nubilous jubilous surf the clouds swuff through the sky like a shoopowder starscud through cirrus and into the skreeslip stream the brubru to Vina del Mar

Nubilous jubilous ride the rainadrift on a bubblegum bicyclewrap up in a cumulous eiderdownsquiffy wheels and handlebar icicle

Nubilous jubilous skim the breezesnaffle an egg from the snoobirdle treesnitch a balloon string and shimbelly downscrambled or boiled it’s past time for tea.

_____Nubilous Jubilous was inspired by the poets mother who sits and watches the clouds through the patio window, often remarking that they look like faces, animals and other everyday objects. Its a celebration of our ability to find pleasure in everything around us and the power of imagination.

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_UNTITLED

poem by Danielle Admissillustration by City Abyss

We ordinary people who squirm and writheThat heapless hapless mess, Of curled hoses on garden lawns andSobbing concrete towers

Must draw air till our dying breath,Put kettle on and feel tights on lino flooring

Looking down carpeted staircases,Through lacquer painted slats,Of late night movies flesh and blood

Elated beauty and wondrous timesHungover are reborn every tainted morning.

_____This untitled poem is a recollection of personal memories and scenes, whilst still attempting to evoke a sense of collective experience. There is a tension between ones personal vision of the world and your opinion of how a group of people envision the world from your point of view. It’s about how the beautiful, the ordinary, the banal and the surreal converge to make up some of the wonderful aspects of whatever we, at the time, class as ordinary.

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_THE HIDDEN LIFE OF STONES

poem by Sharon Blackillustration by Stu Loxley

I throw a stone far across the river,it plops and flits a lazy zigzag to its bedwhere, tired from so much unexpected travelling,I like to think it sinks its twinkling head.

I skim a stone across this glassy surfaceit pirouettes across its watery stagethen at the rousing, crowd-pleasing finaleit bows below into its curtained cage.

I drop a stone into the rippling contoursof feet steeped deep in sands of shale and weedsit casts aside its dull and grainy mantlefor a cloak of dragonflies and silvery reeds.

I take a stone and hold it in my palmit presses smooth and cool across my veins,like an eye it holds the secrets of the riverand the dying of the rock beneath the rains.

_____The Hidden Life of Stones looks at the stone and in particular its ability to show a whole history through its shape - think of the stones as storytellers.

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poem by Hutch Demouilpiedillustration by Sean Morris

_SPIDERY

Scratching surface crawls, Only spidery in no web to fall, and be caught, For more than a fleeting decision made. So in a moment of pleasing before teased to try something else, Realise its never really new, always old to retread and try again. The broken silk retied to capture always the same hapless prey, But for six shoulders to bear, the weight of an orange feather, Suddenly, brightly, there.

_____Spidery is about life being predictable. It represents the feeling that we are trapped in a web of our own making and ‘the broken silk retied’ is the failed attempt to break the routine of habit. Comfort is finally found in the small and unexpected.

_LOUD BRIGHT NIGHT

poem by Sophie Petzalillustration by Good Wives and Warriors

Away shall we wander; this fairest night?Amidst some darkened, solit’ry glen?There’s more to know in lesser light,beyond the minds of men.

What know we of night; but of moon-sprung gloom?Know we of greater things than these?What know we of a glad coming doom?but whispers in the trees.

Their gossip is one of heartfelt gladness,that tells of much more than idle boasts.A loud, bright night, the woodland madness,breathes life on sapling hosts.

How can we but hear; on such loud a night?or choose to ignore her endless song?Wait will you now, for the coming light?For man’s unsightly throng?

Wait now no longer, but rise and rejoice!For life’s to be heard as well as seen.In night is heard an earthly voice,where no one voice has been.

The Eastern sun, but a child to the light,is tentative, forgiving to some.but in dark burns a different might,and day shall it become.

Away we wandered, and will again soon,for the stars withdraw their silv’ry light.Wait, we shall, for the fullest moon,and live that loud, bright, night.

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Although one of the most written about subjects in poetry, Loud Bright Night is the magical celebration of natures simplicity and how it can hold more wonder than something far more complex.

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Although one of the most written about subjects in poetry, Loud Bright Night is the magical celebration of natures simplicity and how it can hold more wonder than something far more complex.

Popshot is a poetry and illustration magazine gently intent on hoodwinking poetry back from the clammy hands of tweed jackets and school anthologies. It is not a namedrop session or afurther attempt to immortalise the great poets of days gone by. We are here to showcase the poetry of today and tomorrow with thewhimsical arms of illustration wrapped tightly round it. We are of the thought that the future of poetry is even more exciting than the past.

Each issue contains a collection of poems written to a theme. These selected poems are individually sent out to a collection of illustrators who then illustrate the poems according to their interpretation of the piece. These illustrations are then bound together with the poems and printed onto sheets of tree pulp for your enjoyment. Every poem and illustrationthat rests upon these merry pages are the interpretations of the artists themselves - not ours, Popshot is merely the vessel, not the cargo.

Support your local poet.