Jennifer A. McGowan: a poem
Photograph by Tom McKinnell Gold Metal Match, Ice Hockey, 1980 None of us was a team player. We were rehearsing for something no one...
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ONE HAND CLAPPING
Sue Finch: a poem
Jars It was a surprise so I kept my eyes closed all the way to the garden. My empty stomach was a theatre of kaleidoscoping gems. She...
Misha Lazarra: a poem
Who Will Mow the Cemetery Now That They're Gone? Is wisdom getting comfortable with cobwebs in the barn? Elephantine wolf spiders...
Kate Kadleck: a poem
Excuse Me, I Am Not Myself Did you know that the Danish word for boyfriend is genderless, translates only to dearest? For those four...
David Cooke: a poem
Selmer It wasn't the music that drew him, not at first, but the shape it made on a stand and the way it took the light, staring back at...
Luigi Coppola: a poem
Race to The Top How we got here is anybody's guess. Sure, you were impressed with the rest: the skyscrapers, the towers, the bridges, but...
Philip Gross: a poem
Philip Gross writes: "There are poets who disapprove of giving any introduction to a poem. I'm not one of them. The life of a poem, like...
Fran Lock: a poem
Gullgirl Praemoneo de periculis Listen, don't listen to them. Your day will come. Up, like a satiny Lazarus, lapsed but swaggering. One...
Josephine Balmer: a translation
Josephine Balmer writes: "After hearing his nephew sing one of Sappho's lyric songs, the Athenian lawgiver Solon ordered the boy to teach...
Jo Brandon: a poem
The Sky, signed by you You have taken to painting birds on post-it-note-sized canvases that flock on the walls as if they were telegraph...
Padraig Rooney: a poem
A Rag-Tag Song It was the good old-fashioned plain stuff warmed up and ladled out. We got stew, a mess of baked beans. We got plum duff...
Sheila Jacob: a poem
Seasoning If I'm winter – and I think I must be as I comb the white drifts in my hair and count down the hours to my seventieth birthday...
Susan Butler: a poem
Travelling by night When the numbers rattle through my dreams, back and forth like abacus beads, I take a trip to that place where I...
Hélène Demetriades: three poems
Head spin I am the golden dandelion always open with my gift of yellow throbbing brightest in my final hour before my flower folds...
Lesley Quayle: a poem
The Night of the Barn Fire This side of midnight a starless sky erupted, flared over pines and oaks, extraordinary as dragons. Rooks...
Fred Pollack: a poem
Down the Hall On a lighter planet I'd be light on my feet or whatever those are; here, the muscles make no sense except as meat of an...
James W. Wood: a celebration
James W. Wood has been writing poems for over thirty years. These, he tells us, are his final two but we're not entirely sure that we...
June Wentland: a poem
jerry-built – twitchy, transgressive, serotonin-dip weeks doing normal blokey things fork-lifting hours onto days growing ...
Oliver Comins: a poem
No Cat There is no cat here, biding its time, curled on a ledge where warm air soothes and sunshine caresses through the glass. No extra...
Lorraine Geoghehan: On the Tober with Loolladi
Every Friday and Saturday Granny was up early tying bunches of loolladi then putting them on her cart. She wore a paisley scarf, a dark...
Louise Peterkin: a poem
You are cordially invited to the home of Henry Phillips Lovecraft, on his 6th birthday There will be jellies, huge as pavilions, in the...
Alison Jones: a poem
Hide and Seek It was a favourite game, we savoured all of the running from a younger brother who would divide us like iron filings,...
Chella Courington: a poem
The Pond Heron The dead don't write but my cousin's letter arrives three days after he's blown away by some kid in his own platoon. Maybe...
Paul Celan: a new translation
Paul Celan was born in 1920 in Romania and committed suicide in Paris in 1970. He was a slave labourer under the Nazis and wrote one of...
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