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Tag: smith doorstop

‘Graduation’ by Warda Yassin

November 24, 2020March 24, 2023 ~ And Other Poems

  Graduation As home dinners kids, we were there when you become a wizard in your maroon cloak. Our primary only a few feet across from the halfway house. Four milk toothed daughters yoyoing off arms. Was Zakariya born then? A cap fringed in gold. It’s hard to be sure what was real. Maybe you … Continue reading ‘Graduation’ by Warda Yassin

Three poems by David Tait

October 5, 2018March 24, 2023 ~ And Other Poems

Three poems from The AQI (smith|doorstop 2018) Smog I don’t have long to write so let me tell you that today’s smog is so thick that I’ve sat inside with a headache, wearing a face-mask next to an air purifier, that the recorded figures are double the hazardous limit, that these measurements are probably a … Continue reading Three poems by David Tait

Three poems by Cliff Yates

May 18, 2018March 24, 2023 ~ And Other Poems

Rain on the Conservatory Roof First it rains, then it stops, then it rains again. The blackbird hops on the lawn with its keen eye, looking to be fed. The wind chimes chime by the door, the clocks tick in the clock-emptied house and though the furniture’s gone, its ghosts are here: the drawers still … Continue reading Three poems by Cliff Yates

Three poems by Geraldine Clarkson

December 21, 2017March 24, 2023 ~ And Other Poems

UNDERLAND (after that man ‘Lewis’) Towards winter solstice, Alice can no longer cope with groping down blind alleys, being groped by creatures she doesn’t comprehend, in places obscure to her. She has issues with size, this human yoyo, no permanence and issues between her thighs, no liniments. No malice. Just a sweet intrinsic no to … Continue reading Three poems by Geraldine Clarkson

Three poems by Allison McVety

March 4, 2014May 28, 2014 ~ And Other Poems

  Going back to Charlotte Street I clock them often on the stairs, in the space between lost and borrowed. They’re flanked by a parlour – reserved for the dead, where only the boy with the telegram dares to knock – and a scullery alive with black-market crops. She stops on the half-landing, buffs her … Continue reading Three poems by Allison McVety

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