Jenny Hope

    Sheep A cruck of moon across the village.  A half-cut sky. The farmer is driving her sheep through the lane, grub-tight, in the hinged-light of an open grave.   The Court Meadow is empty but soon ewes and lambs will pair up for the evening. Their...

Jo Langton reviews Bobby Parker’s ‘Comberton’

Shock value or just shockingly good value?   Bobby Parker’s second collection, Comberton, from his KF&S trilogy, Ghost Town Music, leaves nothing unsaid. A haunting mixture of text, hand written confessions and line sketches through which it punches its...

Julia Stothard

    The Conjuror The conjuror shakes his hand, sells you two coins for the price of three; you applaud the deal that leaves you stuck on wonder barely sure of what was ever yours to keep and yours to give. Moving swiftly on, his beguiling eyes are juggling...

Duncan Jones

  Bus notes 1 I remember that Queer do in some place just off Leicester Square. There was the man in the Freikorps uniform dancing alone to R. Dean Taylor on the dance floor. It wasn’t long before I was dancing too. (Later, I invented my disgust at his get up to...