I can’t believe this will be my last post of the year. It feels like I haven’t had a chance to really look back at the year until now, and take stock of everything that happened. Some of this post…
Sunday Poem – Peter Sirr
The Capsule – Peter Sirr When it came to it, nothing we wanted would fit. We stood on the road and packed what we could, the tickets and music and sealable wit, whatever we had, whatever thought good. What…
Sunday Poem – Mark Connors
Life is a long song – Mark Connors I am fused with the sounds of my childhood: the rushed drop and the almost silence of the first groove, Penny Lane and All You Need is Love while my brother washed,…
Sunday Poem – Ian Harker
THE LIONS OF LEEDS TOWN HALL – Ian Harker Drawn from life at London Zoo you could catch one from the corner of your eye curling an oversize paw like a cat in a square of sunlight on the kitchen…
Sunday Poem – Tom Weir
Talking to You in Hanoi – Tom Weir Talking to you isn’t talking to you, it’s talking to myself; my voice, not yours, on the other end of the line. The half-second delay between here and Hanoi feels like a…
Sunday Poem – James Byrne
Diagnosis Inc. – James Byrne You are two oranges shy of sangria You chumpchange in a clackdish You the flensed soldier, egg-runny on the inside You frogging deadline after deadline You caught in a Swiss chokehold You feeding the duckboards…
Sunday Poem – Eileen Sheehan
some contradictions that beset the ex-wife’s brain – Eileen Sheehan When I got your news I sent a message saying, I hope you all have a great day out. This was no lie, but in fairness, it was only part…
Residential Poetry Course in St Ives
Steve Ely and I have been working really hard this week to pull the timetable together for the residential poetry course that we’re running in St Ives next year, from the 15th to the 20th February. Below you will find…
Sunday Poem – Choman Hardi
Researcher’s Blues – Choman Hardi Every day I try to lose them in the streets, leave them behind in a bend in the road and keep on walking. But they follow me everywhere, their voices combining into a hum from…
Sunday Poem – Damian Rogers
There’s No Such Thing as Blue Water – Damian Rogers I’ve been thinking that montage is a mental technique for accepting unity as a convulsive illusion. I feel sick. I hate it when my stories have holes, though I suspect…
