Pat Winslow Pat Winslow worked for twelve years as an actor before leaving the theatre in 1987. She’s published seven poetry collections, including Kissing Bones with Templar Poetry. Pat enjoys commissioned collaborations with filmmakers, composers and artists. She also works as a storyteller and as a celebrant for Humanists UK.

            Nicholas Hogg The wasted year in dead end jobs. Carving up roadsor selling glass. Heros with giros, when the work dried up,and the dope you bought to deal was crap. The best gig I hadwas a week in Hull, pointing up bricks on a factory wall.Grinding out mortar in the pouring rain. Ridiculous, dousingsheets of … Continue reading IOU

            Miranda Peake She says she’s done it all before, she’ll wait for uson the bench under the chestnut tree. Inside, we’re off at a runwheeling round the corners, Miles in the lead, confidentknowing we must make mistakes to get it right. Amity is nextand I follow, breathing in her panic as we rush wordlessly onthe … Continue reading My mother refuses to go in

            Paul Stephenson I can see boats and colourful umbrellas.I can see heads and torsos and arms holding colourful umbrellas in boats. I can see mendriving boats of heads and torsos and arms holding colourful umbrellas, see the mouths ofmen driving boats moving, saying things I can’t hear to heads and torsos and arms holdingcolourful umbrellas. … Continue reading Ghent

            Sim Pereira-Madder Sim Pereira-Madder is a London-based poet and member of the Southbank New Poets Collective studying for an MA in Writing Poetry. An Obsidian Foundation alum and Poetry School intern, his work appears in Magma, Propel Magazine, Ink Sweat & Tears, La Piccioletta Barca, and Wet Grain. You can find him on instagram at … Continue reading Caballo

            Janet Rogerson began in an area behind the two peopleand Paris grew incrementally around them.It fell soft in the arms of a dancing couplein a cruel city, at a viperous time, when kissing—by them—was prohibited. It moved along a vertical line then a horizontal line pulling into a station and stopped for the longest time among overgrown brambles. It … Continue reading The kiss

            Mymona Bibi when hands were smallerthey fit في جيبك they would seekjoy and knowledge في جيبك fingers spread outgrasping dust في جيبك disappointment, shameand frowns bruised wrists في جيبك screams, cries and howlsfilled the space في جيبك when those hands grewthey feared themselves في جيبك they ran, legs achingfrom the weight في جيبك and returned … Continue reading In your pocket / في جيبك

            Michelle Szobody        OPHELIA:                           Th’ expectation and rose of the fair state,                           The glass of fashion and the mould of form,                           Th’ observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down!       HAMLET:                           And do not spread the compost on the weeds,                           To make them ranker. Like sweetbriar, I blushand ramble against the garden walls.            Like bindweed, I arc upin a childish fret of throats. My … Continue reading Sweetbriar Rose & Bindweed

            Annie Baker Everything is everythingas you'd know if youbothered to answer my phone callsI do not call you for the love of calling but that I might impart something. Something like a stick? Thatpart of the tree which can no longer speak to the other? You take one end of the work andI’ll take the other and … Continue reading Turn-out

            Nancy Kangas Once I hung on my wall a bear's head - not real, but painted plaster. I liked its grin.  Once I bought a thrift store fur coat so plushI thought it a miracle of polyester.  One whole year later I lifted the lining.There lay the hide real fur attaches to.  Once I herded sheep … Continue reading Bunch of Animals