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...
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...
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...
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...
Towpath by Neil Burns
I The Lagan - a muddy silt river -
Barrel of roll-tide, ribs of clean branches
Poke up water jutting. On the towpath
I glean a warm wet...
Translated Love Letters by Andrew McMillan
From The London Magazine October/November 2009 Translated Love Letters from Norwegian oh love, doesn't the fact that the world is so big,
laid out like ripe fruit
make you...
Partita, 1968 by Hannah Lowe
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...
The Lighthouse by Michael Shann
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...
This Dark Art by Neil Burns
This Dark Art If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow, and which will not. Speak.
- Macbeth, Act 1...
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...
Lifesaving by Wes Lee
Lifesaving They don’t do it anymore,
breathe into the mouth to save. We had learnt it reluctantly,
lined up beside a recumbent dummy, waiting to take our turn to...
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...
Refugees by Manash Bhattacharjee
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...
Replete by Maggie Butt
Replete Enough of beauty - I have devoured
small boats curtseying at anchor,
green palace-dotted hills swarming
the spice-scented shore of Asia Minor. I couldn’t chew another mouthful
of waves,...
Exile by Manash Bhattacharjee
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...