Evocative, descriptive, challenging and uplifting
The eloquence of phrase and sentiment and timing is brilliant.
It is for these reasons and many more that voters chose ‘sclerenchyma’ by John Bartlett as the IS&T Pick of the Month for August 2025. They were drawn to its spirituality, its connection to nature and the sense of hope it gave.
John Bartlett is the author of twelve books of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. He was winner of the 2020 Ada Cambridge Poetry Prize and his latest poetry pamphlet is In the Spaces Between Stars Lie Shadows (Walleah Press). He lives in southern Australia.
sclerenchyma
mornings
I wake wary
of abundance
wondering why I’m still here
and then I recall
all the green leaves
with their hiding birds and
the slow triumph
of ripening pods
here lily stalks move
like living things
for this is
what they are
each a pale ballerina
arms stretching
sketching into
resistant air in
winds that conspire
to bring them down
then I’m overwhelmed
by the idea of love – the sap
that runs through each of us and why
time is such a narrow corridor
as we crawl towards the light
is it enough to just be here
to resist these winds
as lilies do
to briefly flower
then leave
note: ‘sclerenchyma’ is the strengthening tissue in a plant, formed from cells with thickened, walls.
Voters comments included:
In my view, the significance of this poem lies in its invitation for human beings to return to nature in order to seek answers to the profound questions of life. The poem employs a powerful imagistic language and underscores the bond between nature and humanity as the essence of human existence and the rationale for our being. It is simple, concise, and transparent, while simultaneously articulating fundamental philosophical insights—being, time, love, and death. Moreover, the poem carries an inner rhythm and musicality; through the repetition of sounds and the brevity of its lines, it creates a calm, contemplative cadence.
The poem’s precision of expression.
The poem has a lovely, sustained metaphor and is very gentle.
This poem expresses both spirituality and tenderness.
John is a talented and thoughtful user of the English language.
soulful
A beautiful, gentle meditation on the beauty of life in all its simplicity.
I chose this poem because it so thoughtfully conjures the dilemma of getting up and getting on with life. It provokes a great deal of further thought
Simplicity in its alignment with the natural world recognising our own role to play in it. I love the insights and beautiful lyricism
This is such a gentle, philosophical interrogation of what life means. I love the title and how this element links us as humans so closely to our strengths and vulnerabilities. Beautifully structured language. Poignant and true.
“time is such a narrow corridor” in particular! Beautiful
his poem asks the important question in an exquisite voice.
Restrained but powerful
the exploration of the strength of nature and the frailty of human living
I loved the delicate sense of interplay between awareness and the acceptance of mortality in the tension between life and the final stage of its cycle.
The poem is pure and whimsical, fragile as a feather in the wind.
I like the calmness of the writing which draws me away from the disturbance of the current world
At a time of noise, the quiet glory of this poem really spoke to me! Sap as love, really beautiful
Wake up, don’t give up. There is always a way forward even in dark times
THE REST OF THE AUGUST PICK OF THE MONTH SHORTLIST
Day of the Dead
Granny introduced us to her parents,
her uncle who moved to South Africa in 1912,
the grandfather I never knew and his family.
There were hundreds of them, all in period costume,
each generation explained who they were,
queued like at a wedding reception to greet us.
We had facial features in common, noses and eyes,
high foreheads and dimples on chins.
Some laughed, some liked to drink, some danced,
the Quakers and Methodists found a quiet corner.
They were from Birmingham, Stratford-upon-Avon,
rural parts of Ireland, Devon and Cornwall, Wales,
some didn’t speak English and might have been Flemish.
One by one they waved goodbye and exchanged hugs
until only the living were left in the hall.
We agreed it was worth doing, to put faces to names.
Ben Banyard lives in Portishead, on the North Somerset coast. His three collections to date are Hi-Viz (Yaffle Press, 2021), We Are All Lucky (Indigo Dreams, 2018) and Communing (Indigo Dreams, 2016). Ben edits Black Nore Review . Website: benbanyard.wordpress.com
*
the colour of
I notice her because she doesn’t have a dog
in an afternoon of dog-walkers
and she’s wearing a yellow coat
it looks like a good coat, I know that much
maybe the yellowest coat ever sewn
she’s alone, stamping along the river bank
where the path’s muddy
but what does a good coat
and all that saturated colour care for mud
she’s talking on her phone
and I’m sorry it’s not me on the other end
as she strides right through
the afternoon and into something else
taking all the daffodils with her
Cindy Botha was raised in Africa and now lives in New Zealand. She began writing while caring for her mother through dementia years. Her poems appear in magazines and anthologies in NZ, Australia, the UK and USA.
*
I want to be two-tongued again
To go back to the time when I slipped
from one language to another with ease,
when I knew the contours of my Irish home.
To stand with Dad by the window, chat
in the room of our own tongue about my day,
my dreams. I want him to listen, really listen.
To be fluent again in the language I forget.
It’s a different house now, furniture sharp-edged,
doors and windows in the wrong place.
Irish says: I have sadness, joy upon me.
There are no words for yes or no. Dying
is caught, like a cold or a breath.
There are four words for family.
I always choose the wrong one.
Duolingo takes my hearts away.
Liz Byrne is from Dublin and now lives near Manchester. Her poetry appears in Orbis, Agenda, Butcher’s Dog, Crannog, Strix, The North and Under the Radar. She won the Best Landscape Poem, Ginkgo Prize, 2020 and was placed third in the Ginkgo Prize, 2021.
*
Ramadan
Colleagues munching bap and burger
thought Ramadan was that juicy winger,
his scorching pace soon snaffled up by City.
Giving stuff up, they say, is murder –
and two weeks into Lent they bring a
secret snack to work through sheer self-pity.
A new year, and my next door neighbour
vows to refrain from cakes and ale,
aiming to be a size twelve by the summer.
Abstention is an earnest labour –
but she is tempted, bound to fail –
so frankly, resolutions are a bummer.
The barbecues are smeared with ash
and fat hands drip with ketchup sauce –
yet times are hard, and cannot get much tougher.
So many people, strapped for cash,
attempt to change their usual course –
all budgeting with care, prepared to suffer.
They feel so good about themselves
but still bemoan what they have lost:
their stomachs fill with hunger and with fear.
And when they view their empty shelves,
they feel the pain, they count the cost,
and wonder why I do this every year.
But this is jahada: desire’s defeat
through self-denial, a cleansing rite –
a noble cause; no hatred-fuelled slaughter
But standing with you in the heat,
to give my heart and find the light,
and let you drink my final drop of water.
Jeff Gallagher lives in Sussex. His poems have appeared in numerous publications, including Rialto, Acumen, New Critique, Cannon’s Mouth and High Window. He also featured (briefly) in an Oscar-winning movie.
*
Ripening
The earth cracks and we are left
with the same shared moon.
She peers through my lattice window
and hides behind your city’s smoke.
Have you ever caught her
covertly climbing the ladder,
the hoards below are distracted
watching the tangerine sun set.
In Arabic the word for moon is qamar –
قمر, where all her phases align
into gibbous – full – crescent
floating in a celestial pool.
In Urdu kamar means waist.
A full moon unfurls at her کمر,
she wanes and waxes, her hollow
empties out and sinks into her ribs.
When the darkness sets in
grey clouds dress this newborn,
she becomes one with the night
before she comes out again.
We leave this earth behind
and the blood moon rises.
Let us pluck this mandarin
and split her in half.
Esha Volvoikar was born and raised in Goa, India. She studied Creative Writing at the University of Warwick. She was shortlisted for the Thawra Poetry Competition 2024. Her poems have been published by Young Poets Network and The Alipore Post.