Glenn Hubbard – 1 poem



They were the last to leave the small island.

It had got too big for them, the circle 

in which they could move tightening around 

their frailty till they spent most of the day 

fretting about the next: anxious and vexed.

He had a line out for rockfish when a

gust near took him off the cliff. She had a

bad fall feeding the hens. No neighbours no

friends. No-one to call on. Him no longer

able for the curragh, its heavy oars.  

Indoors, they spilt milk and could not keep the

fire in, both sitting shivering of a 

morning till the turf caught and they could heat

water for tea, listening to the sea,

the wind whistling in off the Atlantic.

Once or twice something made them panic and

they hastened to embrace to make it go

away. Till one day they both knew: a clear

view of the island from bungalow 

in the village would have to see them through.

The pair of cows were sold, almost too old

now for milking. The hens they gave away.

On the last day they walked clockwise 

around the well three times, reciting the

prayer, commending its care to Mary.

Young Hugh from the pub ferried them over,

the kitchen left to the mice, the walls to

the lichen, the pasture to the brambles.

They sat holding hands. It was the bitter 

wind that brought the tears to their eyes.


Glenn Hubbard lives in Madrid and has been writing poetry since 2013. This year he won the Bangor Literary Journal’s 40 Word Poem competition. The greatest influence on his poetry has been R. F. Langley.


Glenn Hubbard – 1 poem

The Early Spider Orchid And The Mining Bee


“Look. Look here. These are Ophrys sphegodes.

They are waiting for bees, pretending they

are keen to please, sending their chemical

cocktail out on the breeze. It’s an act of

sexual deceit. Brazen. Beyond mere

flirtation. None of your blushing maiden.

The full come-on. Hits the spot. Shall we watch?”



“Here comes Andrena nigroaenea,

all ardour and impatience. Needing to

mate. Can’t wait. False pheromones have done the

trick. Afraid of rivals he needs to be quick.

He grabs the sought-for prize in brutish haste.

He hasn’t a moment to waste. But it

all goes sour, his would-be mate a flower.

Ecstacy resists. Romeo desists.

He leaves to persist elsewhere. Still on fire.

But apart from the weight of unsated

desire, he carries unregistered freight!

Made to look a fool in a fake tryst, our

male is now an unwitting pollen mule,

outwitted by an orchid. Shall we go?”





Glenn Hubbard lives in Madrid and has been writing poetry since 2012. He has had around 70 poems published in digital and printed magazines. Nevertheless, something prevents him from completely accepting the idea that he is able to write poems that people enjoy. But it seems he can.


Glenn Hubbard – 1 poem



Feldspar and silica.

Felsic for short. Quartz.

Coarse, the grain.

Hence the name.

Under the crust,

cooling magma. Mica.


After many hours

of wandering

through the big

town, she’s tired

and cold, needs

a sit down.

The heat has

drained from

the sunny

autumn day.

Grey stone

slab like a

warm slice.

Oh! That’s nice!


Bearer of last messages

behind village churches.

Demanding. Hard to carve.

Chisels clink in a satchel.

That maddening chink.


Finely dressed. Best ashlar.

Many a town hall.

In Aberdeen, east-facing

facades that last.


And many a proud railway station

that gleams in the Sierra sunshine

there where they hold the line

against the red brick invasion.


Up and down the thriving island

new homeowners rip them out.

Tiles and floors in perfect kitchens

making way for tiles and floors.

Those were theirs; these are yours.


They lowered the stone in on a crane.

All the way from El Berrueco.

We’d sit, watching the fish.

It was hard

not to hope for hernias

when thieves stole a slab.



Glenn Hubbard 

News Promotional

Bindweed Issue 8 is now available in print

Despite personal setbacks in 2018, Joseph Robert and I have managed to get Bindweed Magazine Issue 8 into print almost a year after the online publication schedule finished in April last year.


It’s finally here. Hurray!
The past year has been a whirlwind of going back to the dayjob after maternity leave, coping with a sick baby, moving house (again!) and a family bereavement on top of all that. The setbacks delayed our publication schedule, but true to the nature of the convolvulus weed itself, Bindweed Magazine has managed to bounce back from the brink…essentially I have kept our little zine going through tough times. So thanks for bearing with me and here we go:


Print copy via Lulu Publishing


There’s a 20% discount with the code TWENTY19 (case sensitive) before February 7th, I believe.


Hope you enjoy it!


Leilanie Stewart 🍃
Poetry Promotional

Two Johns, two Glenns and Victoria…a feast of five poets

Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts comes to a close with a Boxing Day Feast of five poets. Look out for the Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts print anthology coming soon in 2019!


John Riley

John Grey

Glenn Hubbard

Glenn Ingersoll

Victoria Doerper

Happy New Year!