half six stampedes into our room
where we stretch across the kingsize,
urban sprawl nibbling at the greenbelt.
Month: September 2021
Oysters – Lynne Golodner
The oysters arrived on a paper plate, craggy half-shells pooling ocean brine. A server slung a basket of napkins, vinegar and cocktail sauce on the table. Dan lifted a shell and slurped. I forked one and bit into the softness, closing my eyes. I breathed in through my nose to taste more fully. These were…
ONE POEM – Stephen House
wondering why
create measures to gauge the seriousness
of fragile moments
The Unbearable Brightness of Being – Laura Swan
I’ve taken photography up again for the sake of my fictional avatar. She’s about to start university in Dublin and, unbeknownst to her, she will buy a camera in her second term in an attempt to digest, dissect, and process the world around her – a world that has become intensely disorientating, a world she…
ONE POEM — Florence Campbell-Gray
My name is June; you have to say it like ‘sex’
softly bright
like it’s a pink toaster
COMFORT FOODS // Reheating Leftovers – Bojana Stojcic
Reheating Leftovers And there you wereletting the world know you’d betemporarily unavailableagainthinking, All I can do now iswait for the clocks to tickhalf past six because thenthe door is opened andstays open untilthe blood has been takenout of the bodiesgiven a brief stirput back in or your hate of the present brings you to the…
Right There — Lily Blacksell
‘Your place or mine?’ he typed, adding then deleting a winky face and pressing send.
‘Neither,’ she replied very quickly, adding ‘obviously.’
Community and Creativity in New York in Patti Smith’s Just Kids – Jasmine Choice
The prolific New York art scene gained momentum in the 1950s through the subversive Beat movement and the experimental first-generation New York School of poets. Both celebrated community and were integral in inaugurating a defiance of the mainstream and the innovation of art as collaborative. These artistic coteries shared geographical proximity; personal relationships; and similar…
ONE POEM – Ross Thompson
Beneath the light of a bashful demilune,
the water appears quite black, like blood on snow.
Porridge 