featured poet

The Book Bag: Poetic Voices – October 2025

Can someone tell me how it is October already. Autumn colours arrived early this year and it seems like the nights are drawing in quicker each day. And with a new month, comes a new Poetic Voice to feature as part of The Book Bag: Poetic Voices.

This feature aims to platform and showcase exemplary work from writers I admire across the poetic landscape and runs concurrently with the regular weekly episodes of The Book Bag where I’ll still be sharing thoughts on pamphlets or collections I’ve read through the week.

This month, I am thrilled to announce that our Poetic Voice this month is the prize-winning, super-talented, Carson Wolfe.

Carson Wolfe is a Mancunian poet and Grand Prize Winner of The Disquiet Literary Program 2024. They will soon graduate with an MFA from The Manchester Writing School, and are currently finishing their first novel. Their poetry has appeared with Poetry Magazine, The Rumpus, The Common, and Rattle. Their new chapbook Coin Laundry at Midnight is forthcoming with Button Poetry in spring 2026. 

www.carsonwolfe.co.uk

@vincentvanbutch

I first read Carson’s work in The North and Northern Gravy and was blown away by their work, then I read more and more. Fast forward to now and I am so happy that Carson accepted my invitation.

I’ll be sharing a few pieces from Carson over the month. Kicking off with ‘While Wishing She Was Dancing To Kate Bush’ originally published in the Best New Poets Anthology 2024.

A little later than planned, here’s poem 2 from the exceptional Carson Wolfe. First appearing in POETRY Magazine July/August 2025, this is SILICON VALLEY, IN THE BACKSEAT OF A TESLA.

Here is the 3rd poem from Carson. Originally published in The Baltimore Review, this is ‘Strange Baby’.

STRANGE BABY

He locked his doors—
the guy who braked

at my outstretched thumb. 
His name was Froggy. He drove 

in the opposite direction
to Georgetown, 

is the temperature ok? 
he turned the radio dial, 

what music do you like? 
A white crab 

pearled in his headlights, 
he got out, knelt 

on its shell. I could have 
run at that point, 

but his car was air 
conditioned, I had nowhere 

to be. He pulled a rope 
from his back pocket, turned  

its pincers into its own face 
and bound them there. 

I’ll cook you dinner, he said, 
and lumped the salted moon 

onto my lap. It squirmed 
against my thighs, 

this strange baby, looking 
to me for a mother.

I don’t eat animals, I said. 
It’s not an animal, he drove 

on in the stink of rockpool 
fizz. The island only has 

one road, I told myself 
we’d loop round eventually. 

He pulled into a hotel, 
abandoned mid-construction. 

Bare cement, windows gaping 
like mouths. I wouldn’t touch 

the crab, was grateful 
when he tossed it

in the back. I stepped out 
into the evening shrill 

of insects. Dizzied 
by the delicate racket 

of wings rubbed together
—he took out a knife 

and cleared a path for me 
to reach a secret beach. 

The sunset is pretty, like you, 
he said. Like me? I smiled.

Like you, he said, 
down on one knee.

To pre-order Carson’s forthcoming chapbook, you can do so here. I can’t wait for its release. An early birthday present to me from me!

Paul

The Book Bag: Poetic Voices – June 2025

Welcome to the first instalment of a new feature as part of The Book Bag. Poetic Voices will feature a different poet every month. This feature aims to platform and showcase exemplary work from writers I admire across the poetic landscape and will run concurrently with the regular weekly episodes of The Book Bag where I’ll still be sharing thoughts on books I’ve read in the week.

So without further ado, our featured Poetic Voice for June 2025 is Matthew M.C. Smith. A man who does so much for poets across the world and an incredible poet in his own right. If you’ve read The Keeper Of Aeons Book Bag article, you’ll know I’m a big fan.

Matthew M. C. Smith is a writer from the east of Swansea, the industrial heartland of the city.  He has a PhD on Robert Graves and Celticism. He is widely published and his work can be read in Poetry Wales, Arachne Press, These Pages Sing, The Gower Society Journal, Atrium Poetry and Acropolis Journal. Matthew is writing his own novel of The Odyssey, hoping to complete a final draft in 2025. He is campaigning for the return of the “Welsh Elgin Marbles” – the Red Lady of Paviland – back to Swansea from Oxford. 

Matthew loves everything Star Wars, Welsh Rugby, collecting signed poetry books and 60s/ 70s vinyl. He can be found on long time-travelling walks in Gower and the Welsh hills and coastline. 

His last poetry collection was The Keeper of Aeons (Broken Spine, 2022). In 2024, he read with Owen Sheers and Matthew Hollis.

Matthew edits Black Bough, the Silver Branch project and TopTweetTuesday. He is on Twitter, Bluesky, Facebook, Insta/ Threads.

Not a Mirror

and its flat, flipped impression,
not the containing frame. 
Not the predictable form of self,
presented, out there,
thinned in depth.

She wants to hold her hologram,
through passages of gold
out into the uncaring city:
through mindless mountains,
the ocean's unthinking, frayed edge,
bearing its fierce blue flicker
like a bust of Nefertiti,
unflipped, uncontained,
filling heart-sized height and depth.

She wants to hold its crackle
like an offering to be placed
at the sanctuary 
of a future self.
Green Man 

Mist drifts through webs, 
rain-flecked. 

From the house, 
from the ivy way, 
all paths spiral, shadowed 
by green ruins, 
unravelled to the sky 
and beyond, 
the forest is ghost. 

Walk through the night, 
walk to your rest, kneel 
under the beat moon 
and the pitiless stars
and look upon
the Green Man, 
moss-cheeked, 
ivy-bearded, 
who stares, 
deathless, 
through you.

Today, I’m sharing the following poignant and important piece by Matthew. 

Colouring the Birds of Gaza

In a gallery in Swansea
children are colouring in paper birds,
each one a symbol
of a child killed in Gaza.

Crayons are clenched, 
tiny fists of protest,
pencils propped 
in the pressing triangle of 
fingers and thumb.

Ask them,
the children always know the truth.

It's about power.
Violence breeds hatred.
No-one can ever win.
Everyone should be free.
Stop the War.

This is not the poem. This is almost 
nothing. Look, instead at the paper birds,
the children fixing wings on the glass
that crinkle in the sunlight.

I am delighted to share another poem from Matthew MC Smith today (30/06/2025).

Your Sundown is Electric
 
Tonight, I will imagine one sky
and your hand reaching up,
your fingers touching the shimmer
with whatever’s left in you.
 
You give the remains
of your palette’s freedom, 
watching it trail
through the sky,
like a comet’s
sinking tail.
 
Your heart is as long as the earth,
it could be forever, it cannot go –
a shock of joy before the low hum
of earth things 
and the stars’ iron wheel,
so distant from the wild streak of your wide eyes,
the intake of your breath.
 
Tonight, I will imagine one sky
and that you are that outstretched finger,
as you sit on that step, in a hallway
flooded by light,
looking upwards,
 
your sundown is electric.


Thanks for reading, keep up with my socials to find out when the next poem goes live. Username is @paulwritespoems on Bluesky, Instagram, Threads, Facebook and X. You can also sign up to receive updates direct to your inbox when a new post goes live. Currently there is a delay in July’s Poetic Voice going live.

Take it easy and stay poetic.

Paul