By Abigail Meyer

For Darla We feel we have caught this day like this seagull  with a whelk in his mouth. Hills smoke by the sea, and they burn the heather to shoot the grouse And the smoke burns with a certain haze. The mist and the memories of separate  camping trips flood onto the horizon.  We are […]

They Came for the Shale

By James Tierney

The sparrow your dad loves to watch pick seeds from the bottom of the garden is getting too hot to fly. Its pecking at his own feathers in some attempt at relief. Your bank holiday seems to disappear while              through the kitchen window             […]

Early April Heatwave

By Natalie Thomas

They’re twisting the swings in the park next door, metal coils against wood, the ache echoes in the dry air. It sounds like deep August, everyone outside in the sun. We take a drive towards leafless woodland, picnic in the boot, windows down, radio on. Sunlight spills through stripped, craggy branches. Has it ever been […]


By Jacob Wright

I keep sunlight in a match box. I slide it open – the clouds blush. Bulbs tucked deep from cold sky hum with possibility. It’s warmth like bath water, like pressing bodies. I squint, chandeliers of light on concrete. Tilt my chin. I’m like butter and its richness lingering past the meal.

La Fortuna, Costa Rica

By Katherine Liu

Blue noise. Hard sun. Summer plays its heat            across my back as La Fortuna crashes, cold water misting into light while tourists test limbs          wet from skimming dew, droplets, worn pebbles rolling beneath their heels.          Vines rustle, drag the distance, and stray […]

how to be an ocean

By Ella Standage

1. begin as the laughter of stars. as ice. waltz lazy orbits around the rock with no name and watch, and watch. here; a planet is being born. a heartbeat starts—hydrogen gasps—you melt. 2. becoming water is like the pitch of your voice changing overnight. an ache when you say your old name out loud. […]

In Thanks

By Rosa Walling-Wefelmeyer

All along the riverbanks trees are citrine, amber, coral, ruby, in thanks for the chance to green again. Colour contours contrast across each leaf; words like Birch and Oak emerge, budding up in throats of passersby recalling why they talk of trees not tree. But the river, mischievous as ever, speaks in diamond tones below […]

Eskerdale Green

By Hero Bain

I thought rain was only this blue in picture books. Out there the mountains are a rough sea rolling, Breaking over each other, Tossing the light of a distant house between them. The road is chalked-marked, the day seems to linger. A tree sticks out like a sooty spider web, Hedgerows become charcoal lines on […]


By Amelie Maurice-Jones

blackbird nest: bruised honey holds all eggs which un- half in hollowhold when no men ferret for thrills and this is Tuesday, now nobody is watching sheds a skin. every tree shuddering off rust in the shops which shut coloured shutters. the day hides behind foggy eyelashes, i backtrack the road and step around the […]

My Hurricane

By Jamie Hancock

I have a hurricane inside my ear. I don’t know how, But now, each night as I go to sleep, It roars its way around my head. At first, I asked if others could hear it too – None of them knew what I was talking about Until I opened up my mouth and let […]

Carrying Grandma’s Plants Out of Her Apartment After the Move

By Daniel Blokh

As she held me once, when my body was smaller than hers, so we hold the green figures to our chests, set them down in the backseat of the car. Her apartment turns blank again, forgets her quicker than she forgets herself. We tape up cracks on the flowerpots, make sure the stems don’t bend […]


By Rahmoan Williams

Admit it, you were playing hide and seek with me. Thinking it’s a great place to hide six feet deep under the ground. How long were you planning to stay there? You found me before I could find you. It’s not fair. You were cheating, you can’t just hide somewhere and never come back. At […]

The refrigerator at the end of the universe

By Charlotte Guterman

is empty. It doesn’t remember how it got here To the imaginary cliff of star growth valley And the way the ground roils beneath. It sees everything but small and far away Like the inverse telescope or collapsible spoon. The galaxy is hollow and reflective shivering Sometimes with great shudders of time. A hum expands […]


By Isabel Waters

When the blue planet snagged its atmosphere On a passing meteor, all manner of life Came leaking out. Clouds. Couches. Conversation. Computers, Camels and Countries Spreading outward across the black like the Remnants of a rubbish cluster across the sea. A diverse array of religious relics are floating now, In another God’s strange centre.

Miss Take, What Mistake?

By Elliot Owen

When my teacher marques my book. Eye get told two have another look. She says she finds lots of miss takes. Miss takes at ate, eye should not make. Eye got told to use the school pea sea. May bee hoping that it wood teach me. It has a grate spell chequer on it. Witch […]

Mr. Mujer

By Vivian Vasquez

had pink cheeks; a blue mind flew to LA, pompously dressed; returned with a chest filled with silicon and plump dreams. in LA, She’s essential to the fashion scene; here at home, He’s promiscuous and obscene. She was by the alley —last seen hanging here genderless, purple, and dead.

What goes in my backpack?

By Vriti Ranka

Gossip, torchlight, sun – shades, stories; Different colours – red, white, blue; What goes in my big fat backpack? Books and books of hidden clues! Chocolates, chips and mangoes, juicy; To infinity and beyond! And what I love the most in that is: Everything! It’s like a bond!

Tea Dust

By Janice Hahn

He fumbled in empty tea boxes one autumn evening. Snake-like, swamped in his mother’s rasping. After she lost speech, she rolled words in her fingers. Pressed finely crumbled jasmine flakes into his sopping hands, congealed chevrons of red ebbing out towards fleshy shore. Doubt bloomed from her lips, branded, into the roots of his wrists. […]

Mother’s Pantheon

By Rebecca Oet

1. My mother sashayed into my room last night, dress swirling, golden wheat humming on her lips. 2. Ghostly pit pattering behind my eyelids, are there monsters hiding in the oil slick? 3. My heart is congealed milk jelly, hear it wobble!

Ten Line Love Poem to Bold Street

By Eira Murphy

there was a centaur on the road this morning, yelling iceman in beer-froth syllables. bare chested like a promise outside a betting shop, a woman with plastic bag skin is singing of her lost velvet platforms (lost days, lost nights) she scoops up silvered minutes.

Southgrove Road Carol Singing

By Beth Davies

My childhood blurs in yellow light and cinnamon air, the year irrelevant. A single Gloria holds all my Christmas Eves: nights when we breathe dragon-smoke, clutch rain-crinkled paper and sing to our streets, two tunes at once and all out of time. This is the closest I come to faith; out-of-tune voices make the lyrics […]


By Anna Farley

How can a year open on a blank page? “Write here.” Write that the sky splits open like a crypt For the rain to fall in. And half-starved birds come tumbling From the sky onto the bones of trees. Who could doubt the myth Of spontaneous generation? That maggots might spring Fully-formed From the carcass […]

At the ending

By Emily Ingle

we tread our river-ice skulls crown to temple in ink-black leather boots, steel-toed careful – these are still our most fluid bones, paper-thin; beneath we are all running water, sleeping fish and unlined pages, crinkled tissue lobes. Make fresh footprints, but imagine softly. Here at the ending there is no upstream, downstream of left-to-right, paragraphs, […]

Window Light

By Emily Breeds

Spine curving like a snow-heavy branch, each vertebra interlocking with the cold wall’s stone, feeling numb cement fingers along his back through ten years of worn cloth. He is invisible, a grey brick chameleon with severed vocal cords. He sees life’s soft glow framed with silver and he remembers. He remembers his wedding. It was […]

the wasp graveyard

By Ella Standage

january and we sleep under bruise-light / and the wasps smuggle themselves between the panes of my double glazing and die. i’ve spent the new year living honeycombed which means my thoughts are turning geometric—/ /—which means i want to hold very still and fill with honey or some other reminder of summer. or to […]

Snowed in

By Ben Vince

Everything shut down and dead for the day; even my own cosy abandonment is worried it will catch a fever, break out into a delirious sweat and burn the house to meltwater. Nothing but the nothing of white outside; I watch the news expecting yet more stark death, knowing only the warm ones will go, […]

Thinning ice

By Josiah Mortimer

It’s snowing in the Sahara. I saw the pictures – of white-capped dunes beside camel and cactus, the white on orange of Martian blizzard the extraordinary is becoming so familiar as to stare unphased at newspapers’ wry words of white Christmasses in North Africa and wet winters on English plains And the cherry blossoms are […]

Ice-cream Men

By James Wijesinghe

The singing bees, Allured by beds Ablaze with kaleidoscopes Of sweet peas, marigolds, foxgloves and sunflowers, Bathe in the syrups Until their furs are soaked and fat. Then that lullaby, The warble of the ice-cream man, Pipes through melting streets. His van charms flocks Bleating for lollies, cones with flakes, Rainbow sprinkles and doubles with […]

The Fire’s Coming!

By Rosie Levene

Get the diary, bury the cheese, Oh no! I can’t leave these! My frizziest wigs, a couple of pens, Some speckled eggs from my neighbour’s hens. The fire’s coming, Big and bright, I’ve got to leave; I must tonight! A few last words on the diary’s page: ‘How soon the fyre cometh art hard to […]

Great Fire

By Emma White

i impose. this ancient dance is one acted to drums reflective of heartbeats, the sound of thumps on cobbles, screaming horses in the night. i lie in the hands of those who spun sugar to smoke; from the tips of my teeth let pour sweet scorchings. like Midas, i breed tragedies with each golden lick […]