As a living soul of the twenty-first century, if you take a glance at the opening lines of Beowulf, the Old English poem, the chances are that you won’t be able to understand it. If anything, you may perhaps recognise its famous first word, hƿæt. This is absolutely fine, I should add; Old English is an old…
Tag: porridge
ART – Manon Parry 
‘a visual stream of consciousness where your imaginary and erratic thoughts come to life.’
ONE POEM — Louise McStravick
We look up to her, I’ll teach you how
it works she says to the ram’s head, the birds eye
her mouth devouring snake heads
Acknowledging the River – Natalie Timmerman
“Everyone has anxiety.” “Be thankful for what you do have.” “Others have it worse.” When I sunk chin-deep into my anxiety, when I waded through life with a churning stomach, pale skin, and clenched jaw, these phrases thickened the current; they made the wading harder. Sure, they varied in words, tones, and intentions, but they…
ONE POEM — Diane Fahey
a frieze of lacemakers
intricately at work
beneath the bay’s
array of scintilla –
ONE POEM — Joseph Eastell
half six stampedes into our room
where we stretch across the kingsize,
urban sprawl nibbling at the greenbelt.
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.’
