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Mandy Pannett



All the Invisibles

About Mandy Pannett


Buy All the Invisibles






ISBN 978-0-9568101-2-0


All the Invisibles




Mysterious how the medlar ripens,

softens, rots like Camembert  – inexorable

in its breakdown, this progress into mould.


A smutty fruit: Shakespearian – seaside picture-

postcard rude, designed to raise a belly

laugh with hints of bums and holes.


Blettir – the term for overripe, for this slimy

slurpy process – such an atmospheric word, so  

French this aromatic feel of rainfall in Montmartre.


Rain and footfall; blood-red light: A tale where rain

was far-off drumming; louder, thundering, tumbril

wheels; a ripe and rotten group ...


or not of blood but garnet-red: a medlar jelly

sweet for Spring’s return. So suck this flesh and luscious

rot: Best after frost, they say.





They say he lacks parental care.

He wonders if that means the day his mother shoved him

in the dustbin, kept him there with bricks

to stop the lid ...


A dark and raven world

with holes no sweets can fill.


He knows a rock upon the moors

that legend says was once a Troll.

He likes this stunted, Nordic creature,

gives it names and tells it jokes, sits down

beside its stony base to nurse

his welts and plot

more stealing, shelters

from the rain.


He has a penknife which he hones

upon this troll to make

the blade as sharp

as every curse.





she sings the tune in a different key

and the rhythm is faster and quite

upbeat but the lyric’s not new and

the theme’s the same and it’s

always that guy from an earlier

song who mattered and meant

a lot to her then though her life’s

moved on and he is not in it and love

is a plaque high up on a wall that

tells how a person once living is

dead but the bricks exist and his

name’s on a blue and white plate


so she scrapes some memories out

of the rubble as if they were trinkets

lost in the blitz and scribbles a phrase

of heartache and rain as pub

walls heave with calls for more

bitter and she winds good strings

on her old guitar though no one

will listen and glances at labels

on bottles of beer like hop

garden gold and  fiddler’s elbow

spitfire and end of the world



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The Bridge Selection

Poems for the Road

by Nnorom Azuonye


Sentinel Annual Literature Anthology (2011)

Editors: Unoma Azuah, Amanda Sington-Williams, Nnorom Azuonye.







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