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    Join us for a live zoom reading from Julia Webb and George Szirtes with support from UEA poetry students Tristan Coleshaw ( 2020 recipient of the Ink, Sweat and Tears Poetry Writing Scholarship) and Eve Esfandiari Denney (the Birch Family Scholar for...

      Tomorrow  Tomorrow the birds reverse. Owls swing from branches, geese fly bellies to the sky, and  pigeons shuffle ‘round roads on their backs. Tomorrow twitter explodes. Soaring views on  videos. Televised debates. Think-pieces. Memes. Tomorrow...

      You, with the Lego Grip around your Pint We feel you overseeing, through the thrashing of the dancers – weighing, sizing, rating like a coil-sprung cat. From the comfort of your bar stool, your scalpel gaze dissects us, discards the parts deemed...

      Dressed For hundreds of years I’ve been trying to get out That door. The front door. The one onto the High Street. At the end of the Dark Ages I make my first attempt. But Gilded net cauls, caging my ears, Catch on the door frame. I try again,...

      A night at St Thomas’ Church, Friarmere At first I’m afraid of the church’s dark eyes, thick leaded lines drawn chaotically in illegible strokes against dull brightness, darkness visible within and without. I can’t enter here— In daylight it’s no...

      Sunday Thunder Something is angry behind the blue sunlit sky a growl crows fluttering in confusion and the wind tugging at my heels The scowl overhead Night growl from the blackness beyond something is angry Something behind the sky is angry...

      Beside the Clun 10th March No bright sun this morning to paint the tops of the valley houses. The edges of the view blurred by the stagnant mist. Dawn is still recognised by birds, pheasants defining their territory, robin, blackbird, thrush...

      Holiday Cottage Remember I sat on the grass and sobbed, dust coating the shack’s three rooms, its festering rugs? Dishes not done. A valley view? All we could see was the wood and a lav in a hut fifty yards off. Water fetched from a stream and...

      Hanging with a Baby Serpent I’d like to believe my first dream was mystic I’d like to believe I was born good though naked Like the slimy baby serpent Slithering and hissing just to know himself Cracking and coiling in monsoon muds No pretence for...

      Snake I took a photo of a small snake on a path. Printed it in black and white to know its hexagons to understand its head, its tail. To conjure the moment when maybe I could hear it breathe, could have followed it into the smooth undertow of the...

      Ice aging Look sometimes I just want to lick ice cubes and eat jam straight from the jar and not even bother if the toast is too burnt we all deserve to be seen for what we could have been but this is not about us— Look I’m just saying wouldn’t it...

      The Incident The general mood was optimistic precisely because everything had been prepared to go wrong, and when the performance was unexpectedly beset by several predictable problems, the general mood became even more optimistic. The incident...

      You Were And she could hear the highway breathing And she could see a nearby factory She's making sure she is not dreaming (Talking Heads, She Was) Out past the peeling smokestacks In a blurring frame of mind You healed me, in the name of A dab of...

      Otter in shadows You can see where he is, little seeker, by the sparkle of bubbles escaping from his fur, a surface shiver fizzing among bladderwrack. When he starts rummaging in nests on the skerry, the heron flaps off, a flag signalling end of...

      Each night each night I lie in bed, spurred and splintered, to tape your breath, kiss the guinea pig that died in my keep, hair flick, to flick you alive each night I marry a replica of god’s first limb and break his fingers one by one each night...

      Reaping the Whirlwind headlit rain-wind detonates on tarmac stings our faces    lashes our ears batters our legs like breakers from a long Atlantic swell it souses heavy coats like tissue snatches our bellowed madness we scurry for shelter fools...

      Starve O’clock The sharpness of hunger shadows the downs. Kite quarters with an opportunist’s moon-pale eye. The woman threw food – sky dog, it came to her whistle. Afraid for their barbecues, next door complain. Woman desist or be afraid. Lost on...