The Daylight Comes With Me by John Darwin

0
Leave the world alone and close the door, seal this room from everything outside, nothing else exists but these four walls; we have eight hours and five...

The Lighthouse by Michael Shann

0
The Lighthouse Markhouse Road So far from the wine-dark sea, a displaced monument to faith and absurdity at the turn of a neat, Victorian street. Still, the treacherous rocks...

Men by Belinda Rule

0
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,...

Onion Music by Mark Fiddes

0
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...

Poetry | A Letter from Brooklyn by Derek Walcott

1
An old lady writes me in a spidery style, Each character trembling, and I see a veined hand Pellucid as paper, travelling on a skein Of such...

Archive | Poetry | The Wiper by Louis MacNeice

0
First published in the May 1960 issue of The London Magazine (Volume 7, No. 5). Through purblind night the wiper Reaps a swathe of water

Exile by Manash Bhattacharjee

0
Exile “I rested my mouth on your memory” ~ Yannis Ritsos, from Diaries of Exile Night arrives like a cart You push it with motionless hands There is darkness But...

Shining Shoes by Nausheen Eusuf

0
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...

October by Lydia Towsey

0
October Pizza bruschetta gold dress Rioja Autumn is here and Winter forgotten Walking through town arm in arm with a lover Moon in the sky and leaves good...

Interview | Raymond Antrobus

0
Raymond Antrobus is a poet, educator, curator, editor and investigator of missing sounds, who is a founding member of Chill Pill as well as the Keats...

The London Magazine Poetry Prize 2018 – Winners Announced!

0
A huge thanks to everyone who entered this year's poetry prize! We had so many high quality entries this year which resulted in a...

Spotlight V: Journals Edition | LE GUN / Hotel

0
The London Magazine has long been a champion of emerging writers and independent publishers, stretching back to the 1950s and 60s, when young writers...

Puddocks by John Greening

0
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...

Giggles by Evdokia Charalampous

0
With her eyes closed she has been staring at the lamps on the ceiling for days. By now they must look like Sufi dervishes whirling in white to...

Last Heron by Stella Davis

0
Last Heron As the last heron goes, rooks fall from the sky like old black rags to carpet the new-laid field. Six days now, six days and nights without...

Catalogue of Minor Extinctions by Tyler Raso

0
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...

Partita, 1968 by Hannah Lowe

0
Partita, 1968 When the tabla and double bass are really moving the raga in full swing I think of when I used to run for hours, for...

Real Life by Suzannah Evans

0
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...

Poetry | Under the Loquat by Peter Anderson

0
He had that majority under the loquat, rain falling like a god in gold, the breakthrough sun, and the spin on things, tar growing a fur. Loitered...

The Veil by Manash Bhattacharjee

0
She walks past the wave Of curious glances An apparition eluding Light and desire Everything she hides from Trembles in her body She remembers the lures In every street But no street...

Madonna and Child by Hugh Dunkerley

0
Don’t believe the lies: Joseph was a randy little sod. That’s why we had to leave, go back to Bethlehem where he told his family I was pregnant with...

Refugees by Manash Bhattacharjee

0
Refugees I know a thing or two about refugees – As a child I heard father say, “We were sleeping in the place we thought was our country, till the siren rang...

Playing Safe | Hugo Williams

0
I liked not liking you much. I liked playing safe. Not being bowled over by you was part of the thrill. At the King’s Palace Hotel you couldn’t...

What You Call Your ‘Winter Mode’ by Patri Wright

0
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...

Dearest reader! Our newsletter!

Sign up to our newsletter for the latest content, freebies, news and competition updates, right to your inbox. From the oldest literary periodical in the UK.

You can unsubscribe any time by clicking the link in the footer of any email you receive from us, or directly on info@thelondonmagazine.org. Find our privacy policies and terms of use at the bottom of our website.