Poetry
-
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.…
Written by
-
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.
Written by
-
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.
Written by
-
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
Written by
-
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 –…
Written by
-
A SINGLE NOTE, by Fabrice Poussin
He reached into the darkness for the midnight drink to find the glass empty.
Written by
-
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.
Written by
-
LITTLE THIEVES, by Susan Gordon Byron
Dali’s clocks were sincere. They slipped over things, slid past and took nothing with them. They changed. Or I changed them.
Written by
