Competence by Anna Kahn

There is nothing in this room for those who have not learned to sing without thinking, who don’t know where the music fits in their bodies, how to...

Bright Celestial Objects by Rebecca Goss

After Alison Watt, ‘Venus’ (2015) Their backs against the grass, she felt a pull, as if the leaves on the trees were lodestones, the hairs on her skin...

His Bottom Lip by Rachel Long

Clitoral, like finding a small, hidden part of myself in someone else. Nerve-wet, fleshy - for a white guy, and stained between life-lines with red wine gone black. Only this...

Pigeons by Kate Bingham

I It’s just the same old air a person breathes, roughly the same respiratory system, steady compared with ours, the same idea of hindrance (flesh the breath must...

Madness by Patrick Cash

There’s a stream by the Avon ward Where I stand to watch the water flow And unwind the whirlpools of my mind When it’s dark I let...

Acrostic by Sudeep Sen

(R.I.P. Derek Walcott: January 23, 1930 – March 17, 2017) Deep seas of yesteryears wash new froth on your home shores. Egrets, sea gulls, circle the...

We Are The Cenotaphs by Aaron Fagan

Over a cup of Marco Polo And a bowl of bird's nest soup, Listening to the world as a whole Through the particular, I laugh Into the telephone...

What Follows by Theophilus Kwek

What Follows Deer cull, Wytham 7th February 2015 A moment’s pause before a fist of swallows spooks the sky above the nearest trees. Something shakes the fence-bound rows, bursts through...

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...

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...

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...

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Excerpts from a previously unpublished sequence of poems named The Year of the Pin-Up Calendar.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...

Poetry | The Air Has Cleared by Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee

The air has cleared today, Over the city, and in my head, I see the trees breathe The invisible greenness of air, I feel the taste of sunlight On...

Difficult Cup by Isabel Galleymore

after Wu Hao’s Duke Cups The china cup is frilled at the rim like tired lace and all over it ceramic tentacles extend to whisper if you drink...

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...
Poet in Delhi

Poet in Delhi by Manash Bhattacharjee

Can you rinse away this city that lasts like blood on the bitten tongue? ~ Agha Shahid Ali Delhi, where parrots lift the weight of tombs, poets offer daggers to deepen...

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...

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...

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,...

The First Time They Lowered The Flags by Peter Ainsworth

The first time they lowered the flags The President bowed his head. The next time they placed flowers To mourn the dead. The time after that they held A...

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...

Poetry | The Line by Fiona Sampson

White trunks divide the dark beside the line and in the dusk trees pause since if they do not move they cannot see themselves or know this moment has...

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...

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