‘The Pale Horse’ by Lesley Ingram

    At twilight she is still sitting with the book in her hand, staring through the window, looking for snow. Have you seen my horse? she says, eyes wild with loss.  I smile, brush her hair.  She purrs. She cups my face.  I know you, she whispers, have you stolen my horse?  I cover her hands with mine and we stare a while, nose … Continue reading ‘The Pale Horse’ by Lesley Ingram

‘In a disused game-keeper’s hut’ by Rebecca Gethin

In a disused game-keeper’s hut A stream dashes past in a deep cleft. From inside, all you hear is the waterfall. Dark as the garden at night, a mesh covers the grimy window. No-one will guess. She sweeps the dust, runs outside to gasp. It settles back like the things she’s heard said. She pokes feathers she’s found into cracks between planks. Outside, a jay … Continue reading ‘In a disused game-keeper’s hut’ by Rebecca Gethin

Two poems by Ron Carey

  Among Men   There are a few originals left – a small curmudgeon Of diehards, one might say. Life has put something Sharp in our water or something shaky beneath Our pale, Tupperware skin. We’re not complaining. That’s just the way of it. No hand-holding, thank God, But we are interested in each other – the way old Walruses might care who has slipped … Continue reading Two poems by Ron Carey

‘Child’ by Marion McCready

  Child The field has drowned and turned into a tideless sea.             Flower shapes rise from             a toddler’s broken ribs. Beyond the head of a loch a broken swing hangs from a tree.             His body bruises in the dark,             he has learned to be quiet. Clouds drag their shadows over hills, ridges, fields of sheep.             His eyes are the colour of fists,             he has learned … Continue reading ‘Child’ by Marion McCready

A poem by Wendy Klein

  A Short Manhattan Lullaby, 1939 after S. Olds I see them tarting themselves up for the party where they’ll meet; she post-divorce from her approved-of Jewish ex, and all set to become a successful playwright. I see her pucker up for the brightest lipstick, slip her feet into lethal stilettos, bat blackened eyelashes in the gilded mirror, see it return her appreciative glance. He’s … Continue reading A poem by Wendy Klein