5 Poems by Neil Leadbeater
Neil Leadbeater is an author, essayist, poet and critic living in Edinburgh, Scotland. His short stories, articles and poems have been published widely in anthologies and journals both at home and abroad. His books include Librettos for the Black Madonna (White Adder Press, Scotland, 2011); The Worcester Fragments (Original Plus Press, England, 2013); The Loveliest Vein of Our Lives (Poetry Space, England, 2014) and Finding the River Horse (Littoral Press, 2017). His work has been translated into several languages including Dutch, Romanian, Spanish and Swedish.
Seeing Bede in the Port of Tyne
“This stop is Bede...Please mind the gap”
Fame on the railways came late for you:
another piece of irreverence
from an ill-tutored age. Now
you are part of a branch line
travelling out from the walled city
with frequent stops in between
-a name announced like all the rest-
Felling| Hebburn | Jarrow | Bede
telling | heaven’s | hallowed | creed
to a people who remember
the greatness of the past:
the building of a fleet of vessels
shipyards that used to be
their consecrated bread.
River Hoard
Lifting the net out of the Cam
you watched the sparkle of shimmer-water
drain out of the sieve
and it was like blowing coloured marbles
out of the bowl of a saxophone
one note at a time.
Not Raving but Clowning
Stevie, I too loved Grovelands Park -
I was sailing my boat on the lake
when you were sitting
on the opposite bank
bringing a poem to life.
I was shouting then in boyish glee
gesticulating, as children do,
not raving but clowning.
Blue Anchor
In the hip-joint of Somerset, this ball and socket bay.
The name conjures up shipping, especially when lowered
or lifted up
its surface glistening with sunlit molluscs
dredged up from the deep.
If you follow the tides
you can catch the moment they are on the turn
that brief breathing-while of indecision
when they come so far and go no further
like guests who discover
that it’s time to leave
so as not to outstay a welcome
as you do, Nautilus, every day
taking your cue from the moon.
Moving a Peony
I moved one once
with all the subtlety of a ham-fisted amateur
blundering into the props; shifted it
from the Grand Circle
to the quiet reach of the Back Stalls.
It came to life in the second Act
and flowered on for years.
