Wednesday, 24 April 2019

Spaces Between Trees by Claire Walker

At dusk, she knows this place as beautiful.
Trees begin to speak as silhouettes,
a dark weaving across the sky’s loom.
The sun slinks, wolf-like, away from her eyes.

The house smells of the day’s work,
a comfort of cinnamon and yeast.

She wonders about decisions, here on the front step,
looking at the play of shapes that branches make
as they lose light.

In daylight, she is so sure of herself.
Her plans spark like rays of sun
flickering through spaces between trees.
Images flash as a new home, a wedding band, a cub.

But now

she wraps her hooded cloak tighter against the chill.
Even red disappears as the sun sets.


Claire Walker's poetry has been published widely. She has two pamphlets published by V. Press - The Girl Who Grew Into A Crocodile (2015), and Somewhere Between Rose and Black (2017), which was shortlisted for Best Poetry Pamphlet at the 2018 Saboteur Awards. Her third pamphlet, Collision, is due in September 2019 from Against the Grain Press. She is Co-Editor of Atrium poetry webzine.

Wednesday, 17 April 2019

What we communicate without words by Isabelle Kenyon

We water down thoughts to ‘nice’ and ‘pretty’ –
they don’t mean much so we speak with our hands and eyes,
wide and sparkling with expression.
We chortle because we love the same person and
you hug me because I hold him for you,
when you are seas away.


Isabelle is the author of This is not a Spectacle, Micro chapbook, The Trees Whispered (Origami Poetry Press) and Digging Holes To Another Continent (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, New York). She is the editor of Fly on the Wall Press.

Her poems have been published in poetry anthologies such as The Road To Clevedon Pier and Verve Poetry Press. She has had poems published in literary journals such as Eunoia Review, FoxTrott Uniform, Mojave Heart Review, The Blue Nib, The Pangolin Review, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Eskimo Pie, Scrittura, Anti - Heroin Chic, Bewildering Stories and Literary Yard

Wednesday, 10 April 2019

On Being (I) by Tyler Wettig

You recovered from those formative
and dumb years: now here’s to many more.
Your soul that rends and mends all grassroots and
punk gives you nary a dull moment, except

when you feel dead; but sweet hubris might say
it’s all in your head. Now count the few ways you
love yourself: sports, poems, and sex. Only two
can actually kill you, so relax: you

concern yourself so much with death that birth
means less and less. Remember: dad saw ghosts,
your mom’s, and told you he felt blessed. When
you meet your other brother, maker, or

see the damned wraiths yourself, own up: you’ve

probably relapsed. Or just regressed.


Tyler Wettig resides in Michigan. His latest chapbook is The Adult Table (Zetataurus, 2018). Tyler's website:

Wednesday, 3 April 2019

Sleepers by Chris Hemingway

This is how dreams appear.
Figures, dragged across a storyboard,
then left to fade.

Unrecognised, they stretch
and seize their spaces.
As darker, fuller,
outlines huddle,
in fear of movement.

This is how dreams emerge.
Trusting in sketches and shadows,
debated in columns and corridors.

In the shrinking middle ground
between narcolepsy and insomnia.

Response to “Studies of a Sleeping Apostle and Other Figures” (Buonarotti, Michelangelo)


Chris Hemingway is a poet and songwriter from Cheltenham.  His first pamphlet “Party in the Diaryhouse” was published by Picaroon Poetry in 2018, and he has previously self-published two collections, “The Future” and “Cigarettes and Daffodils”.

He helps run Gloucestershire Writers Network, Cheltenham Poetry Festival and the “Squiffy Gnu” poetry prompt blog.  You can find out more about Chris by visiting his personal website just here.

Mine by Holly Magill

Fifteen tubes of pastel, tooth-rot happiness tumbled from pink palms to the counter in Spar. The older girl smirked, counted my 10p p...