Today’s choice
Previous poems
Tom Nutting
We Were Seeds
Found poem from trans rights protest and counter-protest on College Green, Bristol, Saturdays 19th & 26th April 2025. The counter protest was quickly drowned out.
I.
God created man and woman —
Let us piss in peace!
Only a man and a woman —
We are eternal.
A child needs a mother and a father —
I am alive because of her.
It’s in the Bible —
Isolation is death.
You can’t change biology —
Fuck you. I’m going to live.
There are only two genders—
My pronouns are he/hit because trans people are a hit, motherfuckers!
Repent.
We are building a movement.
Repent.
We exist.
Repent.
You are not invisible.
II.
Repent.
We will not be granted our liberation
from the state, from the courts, from parliament.
We will win it —
by fighting,
by resisting,
by disrupting.
Repent.
We are scared.
We are fucking angry!
We are tired —
we’re still here.
—pent.
Let out your joy – they hate it.
We drive the Tranny Joy Mobile.
We build community,
carry each other along.
—
They have been burying us,
not realising
we were seeds
of revolution.
III.
College Green in Spring.
There is glitter in the cracks
of the paving stones,
if not our faces.
We need to show those people there
the warmth of a stranger’s hand.
They want our blood
for some colour in their lives.
But we are already
the mural.
We are already
the riot.
Stonewall was a fucking riot.
There is no LGB
without the T.
There is no protest
without partying.
That billionaire smoking a cigar on a yacht,
she-who-must-not-be-named,
to celebrate our death,
when she is dust,
we will still be here.
We will not fight for scraps.
We are building
what we need
for what’s ahead.
Bristol is home.
This country can be a home
whenever we bring our bodies here.
We must stretch out this green
until it holds us all.
We do not ask permission
to belong.
We have always been here.
We bloom.
Tom Nutting is a writer and psychiatrist from Bristol, UK. He writes on queer ecologies, activism, and mental illness. His recently won the Lisa Thomas prize, and has been published in Magma, Blue Bottle Journal, BJPsych, The Hopper, The Ash.
CS Crowe
Lines He lived next to the funeral home with his three daughters. A cherry picker beeps in the distance. I cannot see it, but I know the light is red. Who brings roses to a funeral? Rain rolls down window glass, but not here, only somewhere in the...
Carole Bromley
I don’t know why I went,
I’d already heard about the time
a colleague’s husband turned up
at the staff barbecue and punched him.
Lisa Falshaw
A mother teaches her Neurodiverse child colours
What colour is the dog?
The dog is brown.
Can you see the brown dog?
Paul Murgatroyd
I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral,
Cassandra whispering to Narcissus,
an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party
Hayden Hyams
The rain is expected to stop in 8 minutes and start again in 29 minutes
Bryan Marshall
Look at the faint rain twisting
itself into the ground,
making dry things resign themselves
to different states of damp.
Poetry from UEA MA Scholars 2023/2024: Badriya Abdullah and Dana Collins
Oranges with Bibi
Don’t hold the knife like that!
the first love lesson
from my grandmother…
– Badriya Abdullah
*
pulp
just once I want
you sprayed over pavement
I split my knuckles swinging…
– Dana Collins
Dawn Sands
Nothing I can tell you to answer your question —
all I can muster is that
it was that production of King Lear, Edgar emerging
Christian Donovan
O celebrated bard, you should know
espresso mixed with drags of Gauloise
won’t steady your head.