Please scroll on down for the latest poetry news and events.
If you write poetry and live in Exmouth or nearby, and if you would like some of your own poetry to feature here, do please get in touch - email john.hunt@gmx.co.uk . Below here are poems from five local poets - James Armstrong, Roger Homer, Barbara Hunt, Jenny Johnson and Jennifer Keevill, plus details about another local poet - David Woolger (just scroll on down).
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Please take a look at our Exmouth Arts Facebook Group to see the latest news and events - https://www.facebook.com/groups/exmoutharts
If you know of any poetry news or events which you would like to see featured here, please email john.hunt@gmx.co.uk
The most recent poetry event was Poetry and Jazz at the Bicton Inn, Exmouth to celebrate National Poetry Day. It was on Friday 3 October 2025, with local poets James Armstrong, Barbara Hunt, Jenny Johnson and Jenifer Keevil.
The previous poetry event was Poetry and Jazz at the Bicton Inn, Exmouth on Wednesday 6 August with local poets Roger Homer, Barbara Hunt, Jenny Johnson and Jennifer Keevill. See the poster below for further details.
Local poets Roger Homer, Jenny Johnson and Jennifer Keevill performed in the Words tent in the Manor Gardens at this year's Exmouth Festival on 12 July.
There was a Poetry & Afternoon Tea event at Exmouth Library on 21 March 2025 to celebrate World Poetry Day where local poets Roger Homer, Barbara Hunt, Jenny Johnson, Jennifer Keevill, David Woolger and Maslen Georger read some of their poems. More details and the links to an audio recordings are below.
On last year's National Poetry Day on 3 October 2024, Jennifer Keevill talked to BBC Upload's Catri Fox about her book 'The Estuary and the Sea', a collection of poems about the Exe estuary and the Devon coastline. You can hear a five-and-a-half minute extract on BBC Upload by clicking or tapping here or on the image below - https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p0jvlvp1
There was an evening of poetry (and music) at The Grove on Thursday 4 July 2024. It was the launch of Jennifer Keevill's poetry book 'The Estuary and the Sea' (see below). She read some of the poems from her book, and two other local poets read too - Jenny Johnson and David Woolger. https://www.exmouthjournal.co.uk/news/24383589.discover-exmouth-via-poetry-jennifer-keevills-new-book/
To listen to audio recordings of this World Poetry Day event, click or tap on these links:
Three books:
A collection of poetry with illustrations - Drawn Together: Blanc en Noir
A book about landscape painter, John Constable, Between Painting Room and Paradise: A Savage Fate, available in a black & white or Full Colour version.
Conversion (see front and back covers below)
These are also available as eBooks. It’s possible to read the first few pages of both using the ‘Look Inside’ feature.
Inkling
A long day’s fiddle instruction in the shire. The composer cycled home.
‘I’m drained, Alice.’
‘Dear, dear – And drenched.’ She smiled, teasing off his wet coat.
‘Not a minim left in me.’
After dinner, he lights up a cigar, perches on a stool.
Lays an arm across the ebonised Steinway, his mood palls;
he stares inwardly at the keyboard; unwinds. His wife clears
the lamp-lit table; the wick whispers; her cream bustle creaks.
He meanders down lanes among the staves and Malvern scenes;
hills shift closer, clouds of smoke perfume the lounge,
sift over the figure poring over his instrument. In time,
little trinkets of sounds mooch around, falling onto sofas
and surfaces; cling to curtains; disappear into the matt October
shadows. Fanciful reveries prevail – coarse turf under my feet,
primeval hills, swift-vaulting clouds, pink whinberry scent, indistinct
bird chants; wanton windsong feathering my cheeks – Alice
brushes off crumbs and the landed scraps of notes from the tablecloth.
He draws on his Havana, taps ash from its tip;
breathes half-measures, pauses;
exhales two semi-breves – ‘ah, ah; – aaah, aaah.’
Nursing the keys – no more –
veils of blue-grey pending;
Alice, smoothing out the crinkled damask,
startles at a particular sequence of flutes
and intervals. Stops.
‘I like that tune, Edward; play it again.’
Looking up through the haze, woken
from wherever he was – ‘Eh! What tune?’
returns to coaxing a pulse from the impassive ivories
listening for anything familiar:
Alice, glistening crumb-pan in hand, waiting;
cigar: ignored, in its crystal tray, burning…
Trickles of notes begin to string together
like a skein of late geese flying westwards
through the layered cloud-drifts in the room.
‘That’s it. That’s the tune.’
James Armstrong
Rain rhythms
Night rain at wind’s whim,
rolling regal across the sky,
hunting down in seething billows,
bucks, plunges, mane-tossing,
all drunk with freedom
then melts to mist,
hangs, coils, writhes,
wringing heart for its heart-ease;
picks at windows,
scampers over,
oddly comforting …
Then, shattering on glass, brain,
jolting you from armchair thoughts,
comes thicker, faster,
lashing house facades
till ripped away, it tears off,
swept against the racing moon.
Roger Homer
The poem below was published in 'Dancing by the Light of the Moon: Over 250 poems to read, relish and recite' by Gyles Brandreth (second edition), available from Amazon
When will it be?
When shall we meet again for tea?
Please let me know when you'll be free,
And if you fancy something light
I'll bake a sponge the previous night.
But if you're in a downbeat mood
And needful of some comfort food,
We'll have jam tarts and brownies too
Left soft so they're not hard to chew.
So please get back in touch with me
Suggesting when the date might be,
To have our cup of tea and cake
And chew the cud for old times' sake!
Barbara Hunt
Jenny Johnson is a published poet who loves sharing her work with an audience and is interested in taking part in charity events as well as those where payment is possible. Please see her website - https://www.jennyjohnsondancerpoet.net/ - for a sample of her poetry.
CARTOON
Home from hospital with a new hip –
with Arnica Montana on my bruises and swellings –
I sleep fitfully….
It is noon in the village: I recognise the place
by its various gables and chimneys,
by the pinks of its paving stones.
The hurdy-gurdy resounds before I observe it:
gliding into view is a childhood float
complete with its cartoon cast.
A plastic rabbit with an oval face
and a pompous voice
climbs high above the rest.
I feel so uneasy about this buck
that I cannot speak. Half awake by now,
I register the pain in my bones:
how it throbs in time to the music.
At regular intervals, the buck’s head sinks
into the huge, blueing dewlap –
only to emerge with a sickening judder….
I try to wake fully but am led towards a dwarf cottage
where the cartoon menagerie waits for its feast.
I listen to the woman with the ebony hair
that sticks out from her temples.
She resembles one of those monochrome gables –
is entirely unaware that I will occupy her psyche….
The music stops: the rabbit responds with a fattened yawn.
My pain gone, I anticipate nothing but food.
A straw man limps past.
I glance out of the lattice window
in time to see the raven poised on a gatepost.
A clock strikes. I am brought back to the otherlife,
knowing that my keywords – little, and slow –
are ones that I like.
Jenny Johnson
First published in Anthology of Poems for GreenSpirits
Artist - Antony Wootten
Website - https://www.stairwellbooks.co.uk/product/estuary-and-the-sea/
LiteratureWorks - https://literatureworks.org.uk/writer/keevill/
THE CRUISE SHIPS
They arrived in August, bringing a touch of glamour
and disbelief to the summer season:
two sleeping giants suddenly on the horizon.
We were amazed and baffled by their presence.
They were redundant, we were told, but still performed
manoeuvres daily with a skeleton crew.
Tour boats, like lilliputians, laid on special trips
to see them towering above,
their many decks rose up like beanstalks in a fairy tale.
Another ship arrived and soon their numbers grew.
All through September cruise ships came and went
like lovers’ quarrels, some sulking out at sea
while others guarded jealously the cliffs
of Babbacombe and Teignmouth and Torbay.
At night they were spectacular,
ghost ships lit up like giants’ palaces,
their lights shone through our darkness
as the nights drew in.
One day there will be passengers again
and they’ll return to more exotic destinations.
When the pandemic ends.
But until then, perhaps they will watch over us.
Jennifer Keevill
You can hear Jennifer Keevill reading her poem by clicking or tapping here: The Cruise Ships
Photos above by Jean Holden. Photos below by Jennifer Keevil