The Cloud of Unknowing There, it is done. We have built squarely in the dross of the land a place of worship for our Lord. It took years to sand the stone, make flush the lines. But, really, we were shaping our own misshapen lives. Scrape mud before you enter, be clean. Embolden yourself—look up, look up! The columns involve you, all perpendicular, … Continue reading Two poems by Richard Skinner
A confession My friends, I left my foot in and I followed through. I ploughed on when pace left me for dead. I pulled out of simple 50:50s. I chose to stand still and became a wall. I ball-watched, took my eye off it. I made bad decisions and thought I saw passes My limbs could not thread in a month. I got caught in … Continue reading ‘A confession’ by Mark Robinson
Half the Story Franz Kafka, the story goes, encountered a little girl in the park where he walked regularly. She was crying. She’d lost her doll. Kafka helped the girl search for the doll, but they couldn’t find it. They arranged to meet there next day to look again for her doll, but still they could not find it. When they met for the third … Continue reading Half the Story by Ian Duhig
Don’t mention the children. Israel bans radio advert listing names of children killed in Gaza (Guardian 24.07.14) Don’t name the dead children. The people must not know the names of the dead children. The names of the children must be hidden. The children must be nameless. The children must leave this world having no names. No one must know the names of the dead children. … Continue reading ‘Don’t Mention the Children’ by Michael Rosen
Two poems from the light user scheme the vague notion of authorship Japanese scientists have recently confirmed my appearance, they say that the papaya is not a cousin of passion fruit, but of the cauliflower, that a cow is more akin to whales than camels. As a foundling, I can now choose my inheritance—the Great Dane and chihuahua share the same ancestor. Roses … Continue reading Two poems by Richard Skinner
Primary The trees at school talked to themselves while I held firm and fierce at right back. The dinner hall looked just like it smelt – off white, peeling, corrugated like the cardboard lining my grow-into shoes. A queue of children holding chairs two feet off the ground snaked past. Then a sudden burning dragged me towards a chant with two girls pulling hair … Continue reading Two poems by Mark Robinson
