Puddocks by John Greening

for SECH   Clare would have called these five red kites circling above dead or stag’s-headed oaks like iambs broken from a line of English pastoral by a name that signifies a deed...

They Would Have All That by Mary Jean Chan

To sing the evening home, the lover prepares a pot of lentil stew – her phone lighting up to the news of love’s imminent arrival, imagining her lover’s...

That Boy by Robert Nazarene

  He was patient as a dead bird. He perched on the ledge of bottom and rocked.  He was the missed flight. He was silence calmed down. He loved...

Shining Shoes by Nausheen Eusuf

Weekends, growing up, I'd watch my father as he sat on a low stool in the veranda surrounded by half a dozen pairs of shoes, their laces...

I Don’t Live in a Mountainous Country by Talin Tahajian

We look up, & beyond the maple trees & the brick steeples with weathervane roosters, clouds billow as sleeping monsters. Not the sort of billowing that clouds...

The Year of the Pin-Up Calendar by Imogen Cassels

Excerpts from a previously unpublished sequence of poems named The Year of the Pin-Up Calendar. February there is a white pigeon opened like a book on the...

Catalogue of Minor Extinctions by Tyler Raso

i. labrador duck  Sitting at a disrespectful distance— ---------back where they came from—gets defensive when blinking (like only ---------shepherds have a right to). welcoming wreckage to its homeland by ---------sailboat...

Questions Concerning Aristotle’s Tomb by Manash Bhattacharjee

An archaeologist in Greece unearths Aristotle’s Tomb; others dispute the evidence. If Aristotle’s ideas are consulted, the archaeologist Needs to prove, the tomb’s where he claims it, Not...

Four Watercolours by Sudeep Sen

The London Magazine has been celebrating the life of our former editor, Alan Ross. An important figure in the literary world, Alan was known...

Home from Greece by Robert Selby

Above whitewashed, tabby-haunted Kamari, I wearied of the incessant inversions in Pope’s Homer, and left my self-improvement’s cooling terrace to the night, now drawing in here too, across...

What You Call Your ‘Winter Mode’ by Patri Wright

On the wicker chair I wait for the duvet’s rise: you’re just a mound, breath, as I worry over why, again, you’ve overslept. Could it be early...

Men by Belinda Rule

I only like imaginary men, the ones who think my art is the most transporting thing they have ever seen, and I am exactly as hilarious as I actually, actually am. Even then,...

Two Poems by Sean Borodale

Response to Finding a Fossil at Writhlington Coal Batches: A Fossil (a Fern) on Writhlington Batches Re-Take (Pt.II) Time not as we know it but another time...

Coming Thunder by James McAskill

When we stole the eggs from the barn that June  you said we held life in our hands.  Untrue I said as I carried a near...

Eros and Asbo by Miles Burrows

As a man under a restraining order Still follows his ex about from day to day I stalk your shadow as if you could show up In...

Onion Music by Mark Fiddes

I grow lighter for you with each striptease from skin to skin leaving a glimmering bulb a milk light by your bed for you to undress by or find your...

Three Poems by Selima Hill

First published in The London Magazine, October/November 1989 Deep in the Scented House Deep in the scented house, a herring merchant is parting his wife's buttocks with cold hands; while...

2016 by James Stradner

The clouds have swum down from the sky and rolled onto their backs in the streets, begging for someone to rub their fluffy bellies A day...

Social Contract by Rachel Willems

The politeness, not leaving any butter in the jam, or jam in the butter, or shoes in the hall. Not leaving any residue of who did...

Caries by Fiona Sampson

Little hole little well of dark staining the lacquer of my tooth little confessor coming close and coming close why are you pursuing me interrogator of the nerve in its...

Home by Kate Miller

Even a London house must have its swifts, the roof should be a beacon in the western light to guide them. Now, at evening, midges rise in...

We Wait for Poets by Manash Bhattacharjee

prophets have retired so do not wait for yours to come to you ~ Ashraf Fayadh (translated by Mona Kareem) In our country, a prince, Dara Shikoh, had...

Counting by Ralf Webb

April doesn't rain. We have spent days watching the truant magpies comb our cat-eyed neighbour’s lawn for bottle caps and burnt-out tin foil. The cloying sun has not coaxed...

Real Life by Suzannah Evans

The producers decided things were getting slow so I caught you with Arabella at the charity regatta, delivered a flute of strawberry champagne to your blazer, a...
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