Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash


poem: The Painter


How do I answer 

the call of canvas

when I have no hands 

to spin light into paint


to sift sun and shadow

like yolk from its egg 

cut empty spaces into stencils

flow form over frame


pluck magenta vibrations 

from the centre of a clematis     

pour petals through my limbs

in an ecstasy of hue.


As spring unpacks its saturated 

palette     I lie on a lounger

in my tangled garden    live   

inside the beating hearts 


of purple hyacinths 

campanulas let 

soaring cypress branches 

be my arms and fingers


become blue sky, cirrus clouds, 

sunlit bees      sink eager roots 

deep into the fertile earth   

as words bloom through me


like drifting seeds.




Lucy Whitehead is a disabled poet. Her work has been published in Amethyst ReviewAnti-Heroin ChicBarren MagazineBlack Bough PoetryBroken Spine Artist CollectiveBurning House Press, Collective UnrestElectric Moon MagazineGhost City ReviewMookychick Magazine3 Moon MagazineNeon Mariposa MagazineParentheses JournalPink Plastic HousePussy MagicRe-side, and Twist in Time Literary Magazine. She lives by the sea with her husband and cat. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.