Poetry
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INTERNAL COMBUSTION IN BUCKINGHAMSHIRE (AND OTHER POEMS), by John Greening
Internal Combustion in Buckinghamshire The Cowper and Newton Museum is closed so I walk out (passing the Soul Garage) towards a country park where the flooded Ouse glares back and a tape tells me I’m forbidden. In the churchyard there is no reply from the slave-trader who is frowned on by a grim stone mask.…
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HALO, by Ben Tufnell
Just days after placing the book on the shelf I run a finger across the cover and leave a faint wake of darkness.
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PRO-NUN-SEE-AY-SHUN, by Bediye Topal
You tell me to shape sounds with my mouth. I tell you, I have left my tongue behind.
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WILL SHE EVER PUNCTU8 HIM?, by Bediye Topal
he is an endless incoherent sentence in her body if she questions him words will blur letters will change their position explain to me will be
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I HAVE NOTHING NEW TO SAY, by Sinéad MacInnes
SINÉAD MACINNES On your whistle-stop tour of the Highlandsand Islands our whispers are saidto be heard by native ears O Dhiadè rinn iad? Oh God what have they done? Aon.One. The Barabhas moor on Lewis is empty. Leòdhas –…
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A SINGLE NOTE, by Fabrice Poussin
He reached into the darkness for the midnight drink to find the glass empty.
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THE FALL OF TROY, by William Doreski
A false dawn awakens us. The right time, when the cloud-facts explain us to each other and absorb the spilled light.
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FIVE POEMS FROM SPECULUM, by Hannah Copley
Juice All through Tuesday the air smelled like one big orange slice as if I could dip my fingers in the bedroom wall and bring them back coated in syrup. I could eat all the oranges I wanted:I was twenty-one and home for the summer and my dad was dead and love was oranges and…
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POEM AND INTERVIEW: Scarlett Sabet
A Flag for Hope Revolution and execution,obscured the viewof a landmy Father would never return tothe lines of the body a battle ground,strands of hair a flag for hope.I can feel it when words are close,reach outhold a seance between pen,finger and thumb,resurrect the relatives whose voices came undoneand remember,all the blood that was shedbefore I…
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DOT.COM, by Ilias Tsagas
ILIAS TSAGAS IS A GREEK POET WRITING IN ENGLISH AND IN GREEK. HIS POEMS HAVE APPEARED AT THE SAND JOURNAL, THE SHANGHAI LITERARY REVIEW, THE STREETCAKE MAGAZINE, TINT JOURNAL, THE AWAY WITH WORDS ANTHOLOGY (VOL 4) AND ELSEWHERE. HE WAS ALSO A RUNNER-UP AT THE BRIEFLY WRITE POETRY PRIZE 2021.
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