The Poetry Kit MAGAZINE


Two Poems


By Denise Nardone aka Jazz


I came to love poetry when inspired, at primary school, by a very animated teacher - Mrs Verity.  She read A A Milne's 'The King's Breakfast', with such colourful expressions and I was hooked by the rhythms, the story telling and her wonderful voice!  I wrote poetry as a child, but began writing seriously as an adult when my emotions were at extremes - but then I settled down and wrote because I had become addicted to words and rhythms - besides, what else are you supposed to do when words present themselves in your thinking?


I remember coming across the PK List by accident not long after it had started - although at the time I thought it had been around forever.   I also remember someone saying that it is as important to read poetry as it is to write it.  How invaluable that advice was!  And that is what I've always got from the list - I've learned so much from reading other people's work and also from reading the constructive criticism that is offered by members.  I don't post very often, and have perhaps become one of the lurkers.  But belonging to the list is like belonging to a family - I've made some good and close friends here and have shared in the sadness of losing friends too.  The list has become part of life that I can never let go of.  What I love most about the PK List is that this is the place where I discovered my poetic voice.  

I'm sending you one of my very earliest poems which I'm sure appeared on the list early on.  This one was the first poem I ever sent anywhere and it was published in an on-line magazine called Tintern Abbey.


one or two of your leaves
have turned their coats
a sure sign that autumn
is just around the corner

sad brown autumn
wet like a salty cheek
windy like confusion


and one of my most recent poems

On the Bus

standing room only
she shouted
as more thoughts
clambered on board

squashing in
the stairwell
packing themselves in
filling the under-stairs
storage space

leaving her little room
to manoeuvre the gears
and cogs
that kept life
just and so
ticking over