Peter Bickerton

      Conspiracy theorists As they conspire, I agonise: it’s a glass door sudden at full pelt and that sickness as the wind escapes.     Peter Bickerton is a writer, scientist and resident poet for Thought For Food. Peter’s poetry has featured...

William Doreski

      Sunday Before the Hurricane The sky looks wary. The trees confer in muffled rustlings. I should start my generator, make sure it’s willing to cough enough power to support me through a rush of wind and rain. Hardy knew about wind and rain, his...

Xan Nichols

Haiku in the hope of an easing of lockdown   Sunrise early May all flame and pale duck egg blue; Clouds of lilac grey Just before sunrise – a muted bloom of russet On the chilly ground Above the skyline blazing – the risen sun like a young god Tree trunks...

Helen Ross

      He carried a grudge from Land’s End to John O’ Groats His starting point, a granite mass; cliffs tumbling, arrows pointing to nearly nowhere, lost as Camelot hiking hurt in all weathers, spitting distance in rhythm with his stride. Every step more...

Sophie Fenella

      Conversation with the Doctor You hold my breath before me, pickled in a jar, it looks like veins when held up to the light; this could be life, this could be the future of reproduction. You bring me back, back in the room, back to tweezers, and...

Matthew Friday

      The Stork A huge white question mark stalks a field outside Bassersdorf. Black mourning tips folded back, a softly red bill probes the earth. The legendary bringer of babies, your blessed image hangs above those more fortunate doors. Ours creaked...