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...

Hanne Larsson

    When this is all over… We will hug. There’re two types. A proper one starts off gentle, a soft caress as two people’s arms find a way through each other’s limbs, as chests start to touch, as each pulls the other tighter to them, as you inhale...

John Rogers

      Please accept our apologies as we stand with a basket of light, brighter than its weight in gold. Cherry-picked too. The old lady pledged that it could withstand quite the storm. Perhaps she was right, but the painted sign says in bold: Sadly, The...

Mariam Saidan

      Lies From my window I watch leaves flutter. Seagulls stamping their feet, I play with my loneliness. I write stories, I tell lies like: “My heart leaps at the thought of love.”     Mariam Saidan is Iranian/British and has worked in the...

Amlanjyoti Goswami

      To those who don’t want poetry in GCSE It would be nice If you didn’t spend all that time Writing poetry. He could be blunt When he wanted to. All that time. What about reading it? Yes, reading too. Why read something you can’t use? I sipped my...

Niamh Haran

      Refurbishment mum says there’s that generation that covered everything up floorboards fireplaces and now it’s like anti-clockwork searching for original décor I am moulding wet clay into figurines in an unofficial online art class in an unofficial...