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 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...

Evening Light

Evening Light Brave bat in a bowler hat Blood shot eyes question What time does this light Depart? The light descends elsewhere Its shadow rising here The bat changes into an...

Giggles by Evdokia Charalampous

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...

Five Bullets for Sabeen Mahmud by Manash Bhattacharjee

“Is it tomorrow, or just the end of time?” ~ Jimi Hendrix, Purple Haze Sabeen had a list of crimes to her name – She ran a...

The Cult of Isaac by M. G. Stephens

THE CULT OF ISAAC We all know about Abraham, the great religions emanating from his skull, but what about Isaac, where is his world taken into theological thought, mulled...

For Calcutta by Manash Bhattacharjee

As I leave for Calcutta I think the city Always that other city Its river Ganga Always my other river Howrah Bridge What a colonial cradle A Raj suspended Kipling's imperial joy Hoogly...

At the Nursing Home by Leland James

—inside an old man vacant by the window Hold me occasionally for the light is fading and I can no longer see the hills that once rose...

Green by Chris Woods

      My Kodak Brownie didn’t work but I have a picture of the green dress. The film was black and white, my memory is colour. We’d eaten our lunch...

DON'T MISS OUT

The latest content, freebies, news and competition updates, right to your inbox.

You can change your mind at any time by clicking the unsubscribe link in the footer of any email you receive from us, or by contacting us at info@thelondonmagazine.org. Find our privacy policies and terms of use here, or at the bottom of all pages of the website.