top of page

Mims Sully

back

next

the poet

Nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, Mims Sully is a poet from Sussex, England. She was a winner of the Visual Verse Autumn Writing Prize 2022, and has had her work published in Prole, Ink, Sweat & Tears, The Ekphrastic Review, And Other Poems, Obsessed with Pipework and other journals, as well as in anthologies by Sidhe Press and Black Bough Poetry. Mims started writing poetry after studying Creative Writing at the Open University, and many of her poems are inspired by her experience of caring for her mother, who had dementia.

the poems

Simple Hex
For A Slanderer

00:00 / 00:51
SoundCloud_Sharing.png

                        Write their name on a piece of paper.

                        Put it through the shredder.


                        Place the ribbons in a bowl.

                        Ignite. Watch them grow


                        tongues, curl back

                        and blacken, flaking to ash.


                        File your nails (the sharper the better)

                        then clip the tips, sprinkle over.


                        Add some callus

                        freshly grated by pumice,


                        a crust of wax picked from your ear

                        and one salty tear.


                        Lubricate the mix

                        with your own spit


                        and lashings of mucus

                        then stir and speak:


                        Unkind words

                        will not go unpunished


                        but form ulcers

                        yellow and bulbous


                        tight with pus

                        on the tongue.

My Father’s Belt

00:00 / 01:00
SoundCloud_Sharing.png

                                    looped around my waist,

                                    moves when I breathe

                                    like a phantom limb.

                                    The leather cracks,


                                    moves when I breathe.

                                    With bronze lustre

                                    the leather cracks 

                                    as if with laughter.


                                    With bronze lustre,

                                    his face creased 

                                    as if with laughter

                                    as disease spread.


                                    His face creased,

                                    a shifting of skin,

                                    as disease spread

                                    its tightening belt.


                                    A shifting of skin

                                    drawn across bone 

                                    like a tightening belt;

                                    his body buckled.


                                    Drawn across bone

                                    this broad strap

                                    buckles my body

                                    with a strong clasp.


                                    This broad strap

                                    holds me together

                                    with a strong clasp

                                    like my father's arm.


                                    Holding me together;

                                    like a phantom limb

                                    my father's arm

                                    loops around my waist.

Afternoon
Entertainment,
Chamberlain Court

00:00 / 00:58
SoundCloud_Sharing.png

                        I wasn’t sure at first

                        if she was even listening, 

                        though we sat in rows 

 

                        in front of the baby grand, 

                        as the piano man played  

                        all the old classics. 

 

                        It was when she closed her eyes 

                        that it happened –

                        her hands 

 

                        started patting her jeans 

                        in time 

                        to Over the Rainbow. 

 

                        Then her fingers 

                        stood to attention, 

                        as if remembering: 

 

                        the coolness of ivory, 

                        warmth of wood, 

                        weight of black and white keys. 

 

                        She leant into the music 

                        as her right hand rippled 

                        across her lap 

 

                        onto my leggings, 

                        while her left hammered chords 

                        on the neighbouring gentleman’s knees.  

 

                        And just when I thought 

                        I should intervene, 

                        she opened her mouth and sang 

 

                        at the top of her voice 

                        about a blue-skied cloudless world 

                        where someday, I might find her. 


Publishing credits

Simple Hex for a Slanderer: Prole (Issue No. 27)

My Father's Belt: Pulp Poets Press (March 1st 2021)

Afternoon Entertainment, Chamberlain Court:

  exclusive first publication by iamb

© original authors 2024

inspired by

Poetry Archive.png
bottom of page