person Mike Ferguson, one poem

Mike Ferguson is an American permanently resident in the UK. His most recent poetry publication is Professions [The Red Ceilings Press, 2018], and a collection of found prose poems is forthcoming with Knives Forks and Spoons Press.


Red Hot Pokers and a Moon Half Way Up the 11am Sky

The art gallery is just beyond – and there are paintings neither of us would know – but when asked, you tell me immediately what those flowers are called. I name it a simple thing. This time of year until the turn of permanent cold. Out of torch lilies and kniphofia, I would go with the first had you not been with me. Shame of a dancing bear prompted. Only one day before had been such a misery, and here we were, for just an hour [maybe], able to see colour. Imagine that world rife with kniphofia crime. Nothing can make you dance, yet you’d feel the extra pain. It was when driving home I saw it hanging in there.


{ an / otherness }


Cynthia Manick was interviewed by The Woven Tale Press, here:


work in {isacoustic*}:


Mike Ferguson has a new book of poems from Red Ceilings Press titled Professions, as such:


work in {isacoustic*}:


Rebecca Kokitus was interviewed by Thirty West, here:


work in {isacoustic*}

person Mike Ferguson, two poems

Mike Ferguson is an American permanently resident in the UK. A retired English teacher, he taught experimental writing to his students for thirty years.


The Philosophy of Being Delayed on a Train

A tannoy does not express a doctrine. Delays are explained – in documentation – through the calm rhetoric of platitude and irony. That Dialectical Theory of Staggered Time is considered a load of bollocks by passengers. The train got delayed presupposes a self-sense of desire and/or expectation. How Bertrand Russell got delayed before getting on his at the Gare du Nord. Simultaneity of timetable / leaving / track / leaves. For me, our tolerance for or sensitivity to delay exists as variables in an expression that looks impenetrably like mathematics. Dickens’ mimetic capture was of the unstoppable forward thrust into death.


Painting an Imaginary Landscape

To be able to decorate such restfulness in skylines of baby blue. Essence above capture / no cheating with the greens. If there is corrugation, it is centuries old rather than ploughed. When a horizon shifts into and out of hues. The issue of foregrounding isn’t. Swathe of red axing through is interpretable. Sky affects the land when you spell it correctly. The yellow isn’t necessarily corn grown for colour. Layered in, the darker blue will later rise as advanced dusk. There is pink here, but I argued against when told its tinge glossed my car. Perhaps a Chianti spill.