Alison Jones

      Redwood The mineral kin would not know me now, I used to be a cone-coiled code, I mean, I was biding, to flicker into joy. Each day I emerge a little, root deeper, canopy wider, longing burnishing my hardening trunk. Distance from the ground has...

John Coburn

      An Eight Year Old’s May Altar Inside May’s warm beauty I think of God and of the Virgin Mary. I’ve always loved Mary. The time is now — I’ll make a May altar. And I’ll look for my rosary beads. For my Holy Mary I’ll grab the plastic one from the...

Paul Goodman

      Stanage They approach in hungry morning light, treading the path to the ridge and the row of giant’s teeth grown crooked with the ages. Scanning the plantation below she breathes, inhaling the cold and is lifted by a curlew’s call. This is not her...

Joe Wright

      St Godfric gets canonised three sheep and a sharp wind, behind which I feel involvement start to tug. Not at all like the song I composed halfway up Wear’s Bank. It’s happening too early, before I’m actually dead. This park bench and the beck’s...

Clara-Læïla Laudette

      The purpose I’m six days late and this is known as a delinquent period. We’re amused by this if nothing else. The first thing you do after I say pregnancy out loud is sit on the loo and search sensory deprivation tank London. I see you typing as I...