‘Praise Be to Unexpected Ways’ by Chaucer Cameron

Praise Be to Unexpected Ways after Sepideh Jodeyri I have breasts, which I love, I can speak the word breast, I can write the word breast, I can associate the breast with a robin on a branch. I love birds, I love the way they sing, and how they capture territory in unexpected ways. Praise the breast. I have lips, which I love, I can … Continue reading ‘Praise Be to Unexpected Ways’ by Chaucer Cameron

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

‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough

Posted in stone, O’Connell Street Most buildings improve as they lose their blueprint finish, weather off architect too-sharp plans. Some wear layered flaked paint, for shuttered quaint takes, while carved seats bottom out smooth. When an engraver’s cut blurs into brass, it surely gains from handled warmth, but this grey braves a Europe-wide boulevard, all pocked out, holed and whole with the guts of wronged … Continue reading ‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough

‘Silently, The Women Waited’ by Angela Carr

Silently, The Women Waited The clocks ticked down, the men debated the Proclamation and celebrated while, silently, the women waited a hundred years to be placated, a body, sovereign, emancipated – the clocks ticked on, the men debated – and by the roadside Virgin, consecrated, and on ferry crossings, expediated, silently the women waited in convent laundries, incarcerated, their ‘fatherless’ children emigrated – the clocks … Continue reading ‘Silently, The Women Waited’ by Angela Carr

‘Amy, how to write poems’ by Katherine Stansfield

Amy, how to write poems for Amy McCauley again in these times of boxes and unlearnt languages and cats dreaming twitchyleg distress? I do what the advice books say and write every day but lately o lately my poems are just lists for leaving: buy new cat carriers, microchip the cats, tell the cats about THE MOVE. The flats behind ours have been knocked down … Continue reading ‘Amy, how to write poems’ by Katherine Stansfield