Alison Cohen

      Roses The postman was my friend, rang the bell, wouldn’t leave until he’d reached me, handed me broken stems of roses — thorny with their heads at crooked angles, buds that tried but only turned to rusty paper. They’d found you by the postbox...

Paul Stephenson

      Voicemail Sarah is away next week so would like to speak to me today if it’s convenient and not too much trouble. She wants to go over some of the finer details and explain how things will generally go from here. Sarah needs to check she’s...

Olga Dermott

      Seagulls They would shred morning open from 3 a.m, jangling keys in their beaks, an hour after the last scatter of drunks had sung their way home. Every layer of black plastic flayed, pavements strewn with rot, the week split open like the belly...

Adrian Slatcher

      Miss Blackbird Good morning bird I hear a blackbird in the morning I hear a blackbird in the morning Sat out eating my breakfast I see a blackbird in the morning I see a blackbird in the morning Gathering sticks and twigs I smile at a blackbird in...

Emily Wilkinson

      Coffin Road Boots and minds pound heavy up the steep grassy track. We speak of how many men it would take to shoulder grief’s weight, pale with effort and the thought of body within box hauled high over stone, ground and mud. It is hard enough to...

Josie Moon

      from Ache After the world ended A rain of fire woke the night. Under blazing umbrellas a rat-like scurry ensued. Dawn rose bleak; the sun eclipsed by a black ring, a circle of surprise. From the sky came a red mare riding the clouds, descending on...