Today’s choice

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Francis de Lima

 

 

 

Portrait

 

Oh London. U useless city. Map to
                                                                        nowhere land. Tight stretch 
                                                                        open eye. The underground metal. 

The night tube. The railway. Smog
Over coaltrip. The presence
                                                                          Of machine upon machine. U
behemoth. Sea urchin. Fricative city.
                                                                           And yet. Nightlamp burning into
                                                                           the chippy down and out. Art in 

the stuck gum on the Millenium. 

                                                                           And Wren
                                                                           turned St Pauls upside down to count 
                                                                           a broken weightline

distance into the future. Momentum scream. 
A liars’ cant. Tragedy at play. But so vast

                                                                           Life in the kingdom. Test tube. Raucous. 

Speakers in the round. Wringing poems.
Irish epiphany. Cream of glass. 
                                                                           Capable of cracking. Capable.
                                                                           Brittle plant. Chewing. 
                                                                           Something growing. On Primrose
Hill.

The heath. Episodes and vignettes. 
Untouchable happiness. Insulated time. 

 

 

Francis de Lima is a Finnish-Brazilian poet living in London, where they recently completed their MA in Poetic Practice at Royal Holloway. Many of their poems can be found in literature magazines and some have even been nominated for an award or two.

Jim Ferguson

we can travel anywhere
she winks, but let’s rest here
in amongst these words
a moment can take a while

Gabrielle Meadows

I am tearing the peel from an orange gently and somewhere
Far away a tree falls in a forest and we
don’t hear it but the ground does and the birds do

Hongwei Bao

Every five minutes it does its job,
hoovers every inch of her memory,
declutters all pains and sorrows.

Gary Day

And once the father frowned
As the boy struggled to fasten
The drawbridge on his fort.
‘He’ll never be any good
With his hands’ he declared,
As if the boy wasn’t there.

Royal Rhodes

Perhaps the friends of Lazarus, who died
and slipped his shroud, on seeing him might swoon
or rush to hear the tales of that beyond
they hoped and feared to face.