Ralph Dartford takes the wheel for an exciting interview with poet Oisín Breen, who kindly performs some of his exquisite poetry for us too. You can find Oisín’s collection Flowers, All Sorts, In Blossom, Figs, […]
Welcome We are proud to present our third edition of Northern Gravy. Three pieces of MG/YA, three pieces of Fiction and three selections from Poetry. As we grow, the standard continues to rise and our […]
Most people hate their jobs. Not me. I love it. I love it because it’s shit. I go in. I ride a forklift truck around. I go home. No stress. Mostly nights. Suits me. I’m not much a day person anyway.
Laura Strickland is originally from Shipley, but now lives in North Yorkshire. She has been writing poetry seriously for the last 2 years and is mentored by Kim Moore.
‘Huh!’ said Kelvin Kea, squinting up at the sign by the hotel entrance. He treated the man bashing it in the ground to his best parrot-y stare. ‘We’re New Zealand’s only mountain parrot, if you please!’
The road from school to Grandma’s house was treeless and the wind blew my skirt in every fierce direction. But when I got to the forest, it swallowed me.
Oisín Breen is a poet, part-time academic in narratological complexity, and financial journalist, Dublin born Oisín Breen’s widely reviewed debut collection, ‘Flowers, all sorts in blossom, figs, berries, and fruits, forgotten’ was released March 2020.
‘Look at this.’
Maggie moved to see what Kai was pointing at, he was enjoying his new cool status with his big sister’s old iPhone. He was looking at the Magpies and Mochas account, the social media monster that Maggie’s mother had created.
Ten years. Oscar and I have been as thick as thieves for ten years.
We were both young, fairly decent looking fellows when we first met, with sharp eyes and white teeth that were still all there. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not completely decrepit now, but time hasn’t been generous to us.
Ian Parks is the author of eight collections of poems, one of which was a Poetry Book Society Choice. He is the editor of Versions of the North: Contemporary Yorkshire Poetry and the Selected Poems of Harold Massingham.
When my brother Simon went to university he left me his old fishing rod, a dog-eared copy of Wind in the Willows, and seven pounds fifty in change. At least he left them in his unlocked bedroom, which was pretty much the same thing.
It always starts with something small. I’m in the kitchen, putting away the shopping, when a raspberry tumbles from its punnet. Rolls across the granite kitchen counter. Drops onto the parquet floor. A shiver travels up my spine.
In this episode we discuss our poetry editors new collection and the second edition. Plus, there is a fantastic interview with Martha Lane Featuring music by Luke Starling – find more at LukeStarlingMusic.co.uk
We are proud to present our second edition of Northern Gravy. Once again, we’re bringing three pieces of MG/YA, three pieces of Fiction and three selections from Poetry.
Living on Stamford Street, Stretford, us kids needed to be tough. Right enough, I had my big brother next to me – Eric – but still, I needed bigger. There was a war going on […]
Laurie Bolger is a Writer and Facilitator based in London. Her work has featured at Glastonbury Festival, the Royal Albert Hall, TATE, Sky Arts and BBC platforms.
“To sew is to serve” was the first life lesson my parents taught me. I’d chant it to the beat of my footsteps roaming around the city. I’d whisper it into my pillow to soothe […]
Bal Kishan is a hitchhiker standing by the motorway, waiting to hitch a ride. He is a young boy in khaki shorts and a t-shirt with a torn hem. A car stops. He opens the […]
Phil Burdett is a poet/ singer/songwriter from Westcliff, Essex. He has been writing for 45 years.
‘Seggy?’ Darren has made a daisy of orange segments on his big tedious hand. The hand is too close to my chest and, worst of all, my nostrils. Sweetness is invading my head, spoiling the […]
Food is what you need. Water’s what you need. Help is what you need. A shit is what you need. Oxygen’s what you need. A mate is what you need. A good groom’s what you […]
Wendy Allen has ‘A Legitimate Snack’ coming out soon with Broken Sleep and is due to have poems appear in Atrium and Re-Side. She is starting an MA in creative Writing at Oxford Brookes in September and is mentored by Richard Scott.
Sarah Ziman is a poet from Wales who likes cats, crisps, cake, reading and rhyme. She dislikes writing bios. She won the YorkMix Poems for Children Prize 2021, and enjoys annoying her own children by forcing them on nature walks or ‘dragging them into antique shops’.
For this article about writing, I would like to talk (type?) about not writing. A massive part of my writing life, which I now do full time as my job, is not actually writing. I […]
Welcome Aboard! In this episode you’ll learn about how Northern Gravy came to be, the realities of doing an MA in creative writing, the rigours of applying for Arts Council funding and hear an exclusive […]
Jonny, Ralph and Nick desire to read great work, to experience what is truly possible in writing, and to understand a little of where such greatness can come from.
In line with our green agenda, we replaced the TV
with a Punch and Judy show and a fortune teller.
He’s drawn a tiger in crayon. White paper shows through the orange and black stripes. The eyes are slanted and green, malevolent as poison ivy. Broccoli trees surround the tiger, and a sky-blue river meanders from one side of the page to the other.
I’m on the news. The actual news. Not the here’s a story about some kid making loom bands to save a dog shelter, now here’s the weather news but the actual real-life news. And they ask me why. Why it happened.
Mam’s hands are scorched by time, raised blue veins crisscrossed over parched skin. She has a misshapen little finger where Da once brought down the blunt handle of his knife when she reached for the salt.
I yanked the comb through the tangled mass one last time, but my hair still stuck up all over like a used toothbrush. Flicking a few bits of dirt from my trews and tabard, I checked my reflection in the shard. I poked out my tongue.
scared me to start with:
coal-cuts willow-patterned into blue
knuckles hammered and hurt
Their first spring together was…unexpected. He held a fear of women, of being caught in a lie. Don’t you agree? Don’t you love me? Am I enough? Will you stay?
For as long as ever I knew,
I’ve had two mums:
Mum One and Two.