This was written in response to W3 #237 that prompts us to write about abstract nouns. It falls woefully short of the constraints, so please feel free not to read, especially beyond line 24. Great Expectorations To Autumn: Season of brain fog and mellow fruitlessness I. Abstractions It is long past time these wishy-washy abstractions … Read more
I am submitting a poem by the well-known Westchester lyric poet C. Langley Dunwood. If she existed, she would have written it after a lovely afternoon tea with a fellow poet, during which they read Gerard Manley Hopkins’s Inversnaid, which, as everyone knows, is about the wonders of the wilderness, the importance of rushing brown … Read more
A poem for International Irreverence Day, which does not exist but should. A Practice of Gratitude Let us go there, you and I, where clichés keep space safe for the hard questions. Fair Trade. Roasted Kenyan. Or Ethiopian dark. Let us sit with that. We might have chosen perfectly. We might have passed the counter … Read more
One of Harry Flynn’s jobs in Kate Atkinson’s Our Noble Selves is to write the preface to an anthology of poems resulting from the Festival of Britain poetry competition. He finds the task dispiriting, and Atkinson has some fun at the expense of the quality of the poems submitted. This was a job actually undertaken … Read more
We walk on the bones of the dead Novelist Kate Atkinson is particularly good at bringing the past to life through ordinary objects, habits, food and personal recollections. She has written some great criminal capers featuring her detective Jackson Brodie, but it’s the history-drenched novels that appeal most to me. And so to her latest, … Read more
The Scottish poet Douglas Dunn has died at the age of 83. Here is one of the poems that first made his name: On Roofs of Terry Street Television aerials, Chinese characters in the lower sky, wave gently in the smoke. Nest-building sparrows peck at moss, urban flora and fauna, soft, unscrupulous. Rain drying on … Read more
In the wake of the armistice in 1918, Monet gave his Water Lilies to France. Panoramas of battlefields and war fronts were popular; Monet offered a water garden instead. The donation consists of eight massive, multi-paneled mural canvases (spanning roughly 91 to 100 linear meters total) designed to envelop the viewer in a continuous landscape … Read more
The Complete Beryl Goes to School to date: Chapter One: On the Train Chapter Two: A Most Dreadful Day Chapter Three: Beryl Meets Top Girl Chapter Four: Beryl and Marigold Chapter Five: One Hundred Lines and a Rock Bun Chapter Six: Pickles “Oh, fishcakes!” said Theresa. “Has anyone seen my hockey boots?” Theresa was a … Read more
The History: All Change Here I Do not lean out of the window. When they enclosed the common land, peasants lost their grazing rights. A watercolour farmhouse. Shire horses, Lion and Captain, pulled the plough, delivered green meat to the brewery. In the Great War, sometimes you could hear the guns from France. One Sunday … Read more
POETRY WAR? SEASLOTH REVIEW BASHES BACK WHO IS THE REAL SEALILY CHUNDERWOOD? “I AM AMUSED”: C. LANGLEY DUNWOOD BREAKS SILENCE DOORKNOBS AT DAWN: LITERARY FEUD ERUPTS “MY DOORKNOBS ARE BRASS”: DUNWOOD HITS BACK SEASLOTH INSIDER TELLS ALL: WHO IS TOBY THALASSOCNUS? The Seasloth Review does not endorse these accounts. We have not read all of … Read more
C. Langley Dunwood was not the first poet to sit in a beach chair, and she will almost certainly not be the last. The tradition has, moreover, an unexpectedly distinguished predecessor: W. H. Auden. This week, as The Seasloth bids a grateful farewell to our summer interns and thank them for their incredible energy, one … Read more
An update from the editors of The Seasloth Review: It may be the dog days of August, but here at The Seasloth we have been hard at work and are excited to share some wonderful news. As many readers know, Lauden McVey was a shining star of the Golden Age of Detective Fiction. Her novels … Read more
An old woman blows out 78 candles on her birthday cake, but one refuses to go out, no matter how hard she blows. It burns with a blue flame and whispers a name she hasn’t heard in 40 years. Your poem is her conversation with that candle. What does she decide to do: let it … Read more
Beryl Goes to School: Chapter Five One Hundred Lines and a Rock Bun Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three : Chapter Four After tea, Beryl sat down in the common room to write out her lines. I must not be mean to girls on the nature walk. First she wrote “I” all the way down … Read more
How to Teach Writing (This Was Written by AI) Choose by opposition. Not this. But that. Favour the formula. The best thing about X is Y. The best thing about Y is Z. Mistake contrast for thought. Prefer closure to discovery. Wear the names of thought without thought. Mulling. Sifting. Pondering. Cogitating. Count to three. … Read more