Replete by Maggie Butt

Replete by Maggie Butt

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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,...

What You Call Your ‘Winter Mode’ by Patri Wright

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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...

Review | The Neighbourhood by Hannah Lowe

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Hannah Lowe’s fourth chapbook, The Neighbourhood, begins with a winding dotted line that travels from the first to the second page. The image continues...

Poetry | Atlantic Palimpsest by Kerri ní Dochartaigh

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-for Heaney and the Peace Bridge Grey and greying sky reflected in choppy body, as our matching heron performs his balancing act for all to see. The Donegal hills,...

Refugees by Manash Bhattacharjee

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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...

Flash Fiction | Never Fall For That by Rebecca Lilly

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"Clarify your intent," — Lama Chopra, our meditation teacher, rang the bell for us to sit — "the Reaper was once an old friend." My...

Snowbound by Michael O’Neill

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Snowbound Carriages lit and still between the drifts ... With each flake it took on a new form, the city they seemed exiled from --- almost a sad,...

Catalogue of Minor Extinctions by Tyler Raso

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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...

The Lighthouse by Michael Shann

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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...

Evening Light

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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...

Poetry | Woman by Manash Bhattacharjee

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Woman “It’s easy, impossible, hard, worth trying.” ~ Wislawa Szymborska, “Portrait of a Woman” (1976) She is intimately attached To night and day. Only...

The Teacher by Manash Bhattacharjee

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To Upal Deb He wasn’t a blackboard Framing flightless birds Not a classroom figure Offering the curriculum To rows of bored faces He sat on his bed facing The window Van...

News | Waltham Forest Borough of Culture 2019 — The People’s...

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The People's Forest — a literary strand to Waltham Forest's programme as the first ever London Borough of Culture this year — has recently...

Review | The Triumph of Cancer by Chris McCabe

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The scientific language used by doctors to describe cancer—the uncontrollable growth of a single cell—is often mystifying and alienating. Can the experience of cancer...

Social Contract by Rachel Willems

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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...

Khuda by Manash Bhattacharjee

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Many times I passed by your house On my way to see my grandmother I paused before the large iron gates Expecting to catch a glimpse of...

Poetry | Coot by Iain Twiddy

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Iain Twiddy Coot It didn’t need to be a big ripple nudging its reed-nest for the overstep to plop into the up-plump of the breast, and the coot to...

At Aya Sofia by Edward Lucie-Smith

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Today it’s snowing, snowing In Istanbul, Stamboul, Constantinople, New Rome, Byzantium. The city has mislaid its Jews And most of its Greeks. The bones of its Armenians Are long scattered. Somewhere far...

We Wait for Poets by Manash Bhattacharjee

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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...

At the Nursing Home by Leland James

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—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...

Partita, 1968 by Hannah Lowe

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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...

Review | Letters To A First Love From The Future by...

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Andy Armitage's pamphlet is among a number of new releases from the poetry press Half-Moon Books, which is based in Otley, West Yorkshire, where...

Onion Music by Mark Fiddes

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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 | Joan Howson’s Cottage by Michael Henry

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Michael Henry Joan Howson's Cottage This is Black Rock Sands that ............my parents walked to from their honeymoon hideaway. Those are the footprints they left ............on the sand. That is the...

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