Tracing Orion You were already fully grown and frolicking with lovers under the stars, around the time when I used my rough book to trace constellations at night. I’d recite names like magic spells: Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka. The hunter’s body in space impossible to touch. You in the middle of nowhere fumbling with straps in the dark. Me in a box room. Star-gazing. (first … Continue reading Three poems by Maria Taylor
I Beautiful Guppies don’t just happen. The secret is “sweat”, and attention to detail. Treat them to good live food when you pass them from the left, and siphon off 10% of their water when you pass them from the right. Replace the water with aged good water, such as Bronx, NY tap water, which has a pH of 6.8. Be sure to throw … Continue reading ‘Guppy Primer’ by Ruth McIlroy
Below See-Level There is a boy and if you were to look closely, his face would change you. He is so impossibly beautiful, you might even fall in love with him, but he sits below see-level. In the hierarchy of the streets he is on the bottom rung, he sits cross-legged. His corner is not a good spot for punters, too easy for them … Continue reading A poem by Janet Rogerson
Picturehouse Darkness is the wave that carries us crashing, crashing onto this beach where scared young girls wander barefoot, dressed in pale vests, move like dancers with thumb-bruised arms. Darkness is the wave that plunges us, lank-haired and middle-parted, always staring straight ahead at a family man gone bad/ loner with a grudge/ blinds lit from within, the mottled shape of butterflies. Darkness is the … Continue reading ‘Picturehouse’ by Charlotte Gann
Formica An ochre dusk through the window, stewed apples sighing from the hob and slippers squeaking back and forth on the lino. Mum’s become Gran, Son now Dad, but a boy still plays at the same Formica table. This kitchen’s hub, its ersatz knots are giving off a perfect shine. (published in The Rialto, Issue 70 and in Inventing Truth) Matthew … Continue reading ‘Formica’ by Matthew Stewart
The truth so far In the chalky trough under the blackboard, lessons dusted and already forgotten. The teacher is squawking away once more, scratching into the tabula rasa the truths so far about God and arithmetic with the expungible white of fossil shells. (first published in The Rialto; from Spinning Plates, Happenstance Press, 2012) Wallet While clearing out the old bureau … Continue reading Two poems by Richie McCaffery
Some afternoons Some afternoons I take her out in the car. We go fast. Fast, with the windows down, the wind winding its fingers round our hair, its palms pressed hard against our cheeks. I drive to feel the brief unfastening from this life of close-knit tasks. She laughs at the wind, at the slant of sun playing on her face. This is a … Continue reading A poem by Kate Scott
The Parting He was an old bloke. Not a bloke looking young for his age, or one to hide lovers in the village away from a kitchen wife, or make up stories down the local pub to a crowd of mates. He was alone; you don’t dress in green crimplene trousers with off-white grubby shirt for anyone else. His parting of coarse grey hair … Continue reading ‘The Parting’ by Hilda Sheehan
And Other Poems 