Beth Brooke

      The Birdman at Manchester Airport Makes His Confession  1962, Elisabeth Frink, Manchester Arrivals Hall We are envious, full of longing, incapable of looking at the setting of a raspberry-peach sun without desire. We want to hurl ourselves into...

Clive Donovan 

      Park At night in the dreary park empty swings the roundabout on well- greased gimbal manages to budge a little I tread the slight bounce of reconstituted tyre at the slide’s base rakish boys and girls sip from a single bottle spark up a...

Sarah Davies

      The Curse   I bless you love, like the bee is blessed in honey, though, in the hive, the beekeeper has seen the bees drowning in honey. Is this a blessing, a dying from cloy and sugar, surely, slowly? Or, is it this, this, as you will see, the...

John McKeown

      In Rut Eaten alive, being me I step into the street Where November leaves are falling. The air is fine, the clear sky As finely brittle; the aroma of late decay A delicate call to loving. Shed of worries I tread the cobblestones with antlers...