Gill Horitz

      Being a Mother I look back and ask, how did we get by? Was there too much angling after exactness? Did I promise you something and fail? Unfathomable, the way things become, like winter, a stretch of bare garden. Gone the violets, the brittle...

Susan Taylor

    The Trickster Talks of her Tears I wake and, for no reason other than life itself, my face feels like it’s made of tears, and they creep along the insides of my eyelids, like rain shifts across a windscreen at speed, but somehow they’re only ghosts of...

Richard Newham-Sullivan

      The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place Be secretive – don’t make confidences, at most drop hints. Be small bright flowers – peripheral, almost overlooked. Have aliases, a sudden sweet smell at sunrise, a choir in the distance from...

Anna Saunders

      One touch and you Become it   Playtime in the streets. All of you in a line, behind a Wolf who has his back to you. What time is it Mr Wolf? Four o’clock! He shouts without turning. You let another little girl or boy, too eager for their own...

Ozge Gozturk

      I Draw a Line of fire and blood, of ants running in horror, a line of broken windows, locked doors, of size four school shoes with shiny bows, a line of thunder and lightning falling into the living room of our so-called home, a line of frightened...

Sophia Rubina Charalambous

      Nightcrawler Your black eyes, black as the void that surrounds us, stare back at me, so black they catch any trickle of light, the time on the radio, the table lamp, the crack between curtains that let the day in prematurely. They are my eyes,...