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...
Poetry | On His Deafness by Damian Grant
'No-one has ever written a poem “On His Deafness”';
(David Lodge, Deaf Sentence).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -...
The Veil by Manash Bhattacharjee
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...
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...
Five Bullets for Sabeen Mahmud by Manash Bhattacharjee
“Is it tomorrow, or just the end of time?”~ Jimi Hendrix, Purple HazeSabeen had a list of crimes to her name –
She ran a...
Extract | The Leaflets by Ferdous Sadat
The following poem is taken from the anthology Tales of Two Londons: Stories from a Fractured City, ed. Claire Armitstead, Arcadia Books, London, 2019.Ferdous...
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...
The Grandfather by Manash Bhattacharjee
To Steven O’ BrienGrandfather Heaney dug deep
Into his country’s soil
Another man unlike him left home
To burrow through an alien forest
In search of enemiesThe alien...
The Cult of Isaac by M. G. Stephens
THE CULT OF ISAACWe all know about Abraham, the great
religions emanating from his skull,
but what about Isaac, where is his world
taken into theological thought,mulled...
Last Heron by Stella Davis
Last HeronAs 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...
Different Faces by Manash Bhattacharjee
"I wonder sometimes where people store all their different faces."
~ Trina Nileena BanerjeeThe face he wears every morning
Reminds him of his mother
Combing his hair...
Last Heron by Stella Davis
Last HeronAs 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 rain...
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...
Five Years Ago by Manash Bhattacharjee
To Fady JoudahI was waiting at the platform
For a train to Calcutta
In...
Poetry | Almost-Heartwood by Suzannah V. Evans
The rosy almost-heartwood of larch, / which sounds like lark, which sounds like singing, / which sounds like the wood could open its rosy throat / and pour forth the song of boats / sighing in the harbour, / swimming onto slipways, knocking against pontoons / The grainy planks of teak, / which sounds like talk, which sounds like the boatbuilders / as they ease about the wooded space, handling compass planes, / talking of cleats and chines and carvels, making tea [...]