Two poems by Jacqueline Saphra

All My Mad Mothers My mother gathered every yellow object she could find: daffodils and gorgeous shawls, little pots of bile and piles of lemons. Once we caught her with a pair of fishnet stockings on a stick, trying to catch the sun. My mother never travelled anywhere without her flippers, goggles and a snorkel. She’d strip at any opportunity: The Thames, The Serpentine, the … Continue reading Two poems by Jacqueline Saphra

‘Scratched Light’ by Raymond Antrobus

for Phoebe Boswell The heart is circled by sorrows and bitter devotion – Derek Walcott Southbank’s Security guards wake anyone sleeping as if they don’t want us to miss who we might bump into like how I bumped into Phoebe today, sat at the tall window, drawing a man called Anwaar. I pull an extra chair and sit next to them and talk about maybe moving … Continue reading ‘Scratched Light’ by Raymond Antrobus

Introducing the poets of The Complete Works III

…though having written that headline I’m suddenly stuck by the notion that the word ‘introducing’ is redundant, so much noise are this latest cohort of The Complete Works making, both in the UK and on shores farther away. But on the off-chance that you are unfamiliar with their work, I’m delighted that we’ll be sharing some of their poems with you on Fridays over the … Continue reading Introducing the poets of The Complete Works III

Two poems by Joey Connolly

A Restaurant It’s possible now we’ve broken up you’ll never understand my consuming respect for your way of dissecting a subject, the way in your mouth disgust at an ideology comes free of its disciples, in your just apportioning of blame, and actually just like how things discussed get less commensurate with themselves. You take a seat, so easy, so little implicated in the glee … Continue reading Two poems by Joey Connolly

‘The lucky little girls’ by Claire Askew

The valley was filled with things that should have frightened us: leeches in the Bowmont, ticks clinging in the grass. Combines dipping like warships through the ripe wheat, green clouds over Kelsocleuch, their guyropes of lightning. Nothing was forbidden but the ruined shepherd’s cottage on the Law, the gubbed skull of its walls like a smudge in the high trees. It felt like miles from … Continue reading ‘The lucky little girls’ by Claire Askew