Keep reading the poems

And Other Poems is taking a break and will be back in 2017. Thank you to everyone who’s sent poems this year and thank you to Rishi Dastidar for being a wonderful co-editor. I post updates on the News page so it’s worth checking in from time to time. You can read all of the hundreds of poems at And Other Poems by exploring the archive or by clicking on Index. Thank you for reading poems.

Best wishes



Two poems by Pam Thompson

Her Grown-Up Dress

When she came at last to that row of shops
on the long road, having left behind the dirt track,
railway-line, the sluggish brook and had fastened
round gold slides in her mud brown hair,
pulled plimsolls on her feet so the backs weren’t squashed
she found the shops were boarded up, that the woman
standing there wore a pale green cotton dress

and when the tall young man stepped from shadows
of a sealed-up shop the woman’s face was like a pearl
whose lustre lasted all the time she held his arm
and walked slowly down that long road which trains
hadn’t crossed for years, where the brook was dry,
and the cotton dress was just a stem stripped down,
its milk pale sap evaporating in air,
and the young man a tree it had briefly leaned against.
(published in Show Date and Time, 2006, Smith|Doorstop)

After he’d gone, she thought she’d bring him back
so she scoured the house for traces of his hair,
semen, blood and skin; epithelia scraped from a comb,
from her sheets after the last rite, from underneath her nails.
She ransacked sweat from a shirt he’d left.
Swabbed piss and shit from the toilet rim.

And conjured him on a night when a gibbous moon
stormed in and out of the clouds like a temper—
a man as large as bedlam, like The Angel of the North,
dumb, blank-faced, but without wings.

Flight was never in her plan. She watched him through all weathers,
parked her car a little closer when it rained
to get a better view. She watched time turn its tricks,
how his skin sagged, fell away from bones. And how rooks,
nesting in the cavity where his heart once lay, pecked
at shreds remaining, and, she swears, spat them out.
(published in The Japan Quiz, 2008, Redbeck Press (out of print)
Pam Thompson is a poet and university lecturer based in Leicester. Her publications include Show Date and Time (Smith-Doorstop, 2006) and The Japan Quiz, (Redbeck Press, 2009). Pam was selected for The Poetry Business Writing School and is one of the organisers of Word!, a spoken-word, open-mic night at The Y Theatre in Leicester. Read more at her blog Heckle.

Poems in translation at And Other Poems

Poems in Translation from the archives which you might enjoy.

Alvin Pang – (untitled haiku in Chinese and English) and other poems
‘Monsoon’ by Andrew F Giles after Neruda
‘Ghazal’ after Agha Shahid Ali by Aviva Dautch
Federico García Lorca – Ian Duhig – Carlos López Beltrán & Pedro Serrano – an adventure in translation! Spanish – English – Spanish
‘Winter’ after Rilke by Clarissa Aykroyd
‘Ballad of the Moon, Moon’ after Lorca by David Morley
‘The Eel’ after Montale by Hugh Dunkerley
‘February’ by Sasha Dugdale after Pasternak
Three poems from the Daodejing by Martyn Crucefix
Poems by Care Santos and Jordi Doce translated by Lawrence Schimel

Keep reading the poems.

see you in June

Dear Readers

I’m taking a short break from posting new poems – I’ll be back in June. You’ll still see #AndOtherPoems tweets and posts on Facebook as I share some of the poems from the archive.  Please continue to read and share the fantastic work collected on this site.  Submissions remain open.  Thanks for reading, sharing and submitting to
And Other Poems.
Best wishes,