Hello

Minority Listen with owl ears. Can you hear the worn words? we stand for the law abiding majority We forgot they kept them stored in loops on broken cassettes the mob needs to be stopped now they unfurl themselves opening like unwelcome flags we will keep putting them...

      woodland creature cool breeze soft damp air meander inspect each leaf specks of sunshine every wrinkle in the bark mushroom cups squashed together wedged and piled high bumpy cosy textures sprout from the sinking green moss the under crunch...

Untitled (1977). Oil on canvas, 19 x 16 inches. After Luchita Hurtado You’ve heard it said that sun ate into the black hills, cut the landscape into rag-cloth and tied the scraps together till all was light and skin. But there’s still the question of your wound,...

The First Drop of Monsoon Rain They wait for the rain Looking up through hats Crisp shorts crack underneath soaked tops A yelp of mother and Flip-flops drag them back indoor Sun blows fire like a dragon and mocks Wind takes a different turn and mock back Stifling sun...

  The Greek Beach Brighter than a full moon on the sea, their acetylene torches cut the night. Scrapped hulls scream as they’re born again. Masked men tear wrecks they joyrode ten years back, cut up truck hoods and corrugated sheets, hammer spent shell cases,...

Amalgamation I’m sitting on the train with you and I’m telling you about my new job. You wouldn’t believe it, I tell you, I’ve fasted for days and pledged my celibacy and still god is no where nearer than he was before. I tell you about the children and how they blow...

All My Friends Are Getting Sick Resisting arrest within six-sided isolation channels neatly stacked. All flesh is woodworked; index finger to thumb pinched in gluey press Blister pack resentment, as gospel song, as holy hands conjure heavy touch. Our future a...

   Nora Nadjarian is a Cypriot poet and writer who has been published in international anthologies. She has won prizes or been commended in international competitions, among others, the Plough Poetry Prize and the Live Canon International Poetry Competition 2020....

      A cross lights up in the distance, a bird skeleton. We roll by faith my inhale dry like the hoarse wind in the lungs of a chainsmoker. Bruised night skies and a flatpack cross over factories. Where does it come from? Does it cascade down on...