National Poetry Day Pamphlet Offer

Today is the UK's annual National Poetry Day. This year's theme is light, so we've lightened our already light prices to create a special poetry day offer.

For 24 hours only, U.K. readers can buy a package of all three V. Press 2015 poetry pamphlets for £12.50 (including P&P in the U.K.) - a saving of more than £5 on our full price!

The paypal button for this special offer was below (removed after the 24 hours), followed by a sample poem from each pamphlet.

Happy National Poetry Day!

From CLAIRE WALKER'S THE GIRL WHO GREW INTO A CROCODILE

The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

When she was young, they'd swim. Take off

sandals and frilled ankle socks and jump

into the river. She loved to feel the water pull

ribboned hair to float behind her.

The games started with smiles: splashing; testing

who could hold a breath longest. They never matched her.

She was born to lie in wait, to feel the kiss

of the current in her ears until her head turned light.

But children wish to win. The others turned

as green as the rushes lining their pool. They plotted, held her

down too long. The water swilled round her lungs and she coughed

her heartsong out with it.

That night, she lay awake under a sky that was turning

tides with its dust covered ball. She pulled the cold rock

down, seethed until scales replaced skin, found the biting point

of a new jaw and wished for the crunch of bone. 

Next time, she waited in the shallows, camouflaged

in the rushes, cold blood immersed. Eyes broke

the surface, webbed feet treading water. The sun hit

her back and she felt her armour shine.

Then she made her move. Opened up

her huge grin. Felt never-ending enamel sink through flesh

as easily as arms stroke water. She snapped her jaws shut.

Swallowed the damage whole. 

Claire Walker

From The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

From DAVID O'HANLON'S ART BRUT

art brut

So, after my swirling black abyss, a work

still in progress, we turned to Sophie’s landscape:

a jazz-hands sun, the wide Vs, almost Ms

of birds, a green ribbon, edge to edge,

and, poking their heads up out from the grass

five earthworms, five pink splodges

more finger than worm, with blobbed eyes

and there’s-no-bad-in-life smiles.

Are they supposed to represent real people

or a specific event, maybe?

It’s a fascinating choice of subject matter.

Worms usually have quite negative associations,

particularly death, but yours are content,

blissful. Do you think maybe there’s

something in that, a desire to make

positives from even the worst situations?

She didn’t take it with her.

Like others left behind, it ended up

on the wall where, my sentimentality

assures me, it remains, unfaded.

David O'Hanlon

From art brut

From JACQUI ROWE'S RANSOM NOTES

PHLOGISTON

but light was not his field

dirtier in busy doors and tightly

woven doorways shades

of its refraction dimmed

and skimmed dishevelled ladies

his brain kept flaming

spills alive in bell jars birds

fell dead out of the sky his phantasy

revelled at length in patterns

of great earthquakes the certain

stars showed smiles

of loosened hair that wicked

away all terrible appearances

and unforeseen in time he went

for phlogiston and weeping said within

himself the first breath of a word

Jacqui Rowe
From Ransom Notes