We stayed the night,
and left as chilly dawn
broke a pale yolk above
an empty car-park.
Groups of birds flapped in trees,
like strips of black sky
torn by barbed branches.
A week into Spring,
and now it’s starting to snow.
Perhaps the year’s heard your news,
gone mad -
and shuffled its seasons
to end in May.

Chris Major

What the reviewers have said about The Lowest Level:

"It is one of the best poetry chapbooks I’ve read in quite a long time...
He uses poetry against itself, and uses poetic convention against his subjects."
Jacob McArthur.

"When you read his collection … you find that what is really interesting is the
implied connection between the grotty world he describes and the linguistic play
that provides an antidote - of sorts..." - George Simmers. Sphinx Magazine.

To buy a copy of The Lowest Level please send a cheque for
3.00 (including P&P) to the address below.

White Leaf Press
PO Box 734
HP20 9AL