The bard celebrates two other fine practitioners of the art, and laments a lost brewer
Playing With Crayons
Andrew Oldham
You cannot cadge my crayons.
You cannot talk about my crayons.
You cannot look at my crayons.
When I am crayoning you must leave the room.
When I hang my pictures on the fridge,
you cannot use them to make notes:
(1) Not even for phone numbers.
(2) Not even in emergencies.
If I leave the crayons on the table,
you must put them away in the correct order;
even though you do not know what that is.
Whatever I draw you have to recognise what I tell you it is.
When I shove pencils into locks to keep you from whispering to others
you will believe me when I say, ‘You are wrong’.
You will believe in my crayons.
All the colours are yours to look at but only if I say you can.
ANDY CROFT welcomes the publication of an anthology of recent poems published by the Morning Star, and hopes it becomes an annual event
RUTH AYLETT reviews two collections of outright political poetry
TONY FOX invites readers to come and hear the story of the remarkable Liverpudlian International Brigader Alexander Foote
by Widad Nabi


