Kayleigh Jayshree

Kayleigh Jayshree

    Seaglass, Flint and Jasper Never doing things by half, or in order, seaglass for the colour of her eyes, flint for the man who builds furniture to fit her poetry, they ran to catch the last bit of sunlight at low tide. She shouted look, her dappled hands...
Kayleigh Jayshree

Kayleigh Jayshree

The Moth Poem   The Moth Poem She sees the little lost one everywhere, eyes on the dead moths curled on her windowsill. I see what was: rosy maple moths like Batternbergs on her fingertips, A weaver’s wave moth in the countryside the day she broke down and...
Marc Woodward

Marc Woodward

    When Joe Went Out Late to shut away the poultry after weeks of rain he knew where the pony was by the sound of its hooves sucking in the mud.Foxes still kill in downpours. Maybe they keep closer to the bones of the hedge or loiter below hollies, but...