'Pillboxes' by Simon Gibbs |
Pillboxes
Like the withdrawal of a turtle's limbs
one empire recoiled at the touch of another.
In the darkness he began:
I do not propose to say many words tonight
in defence o...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:38:00 GMT |
'Poetry Fish' by Jessica Griffiths |
The Poetry Fish
Poetry you elude me,
Like a slippery wet trout.
My imagination is frozen
And you are trapped inside,
I can see your big fish lips
Pressed against ...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:36:00 GMT |
'A Dialogue On Solitude' by Edward Beresford |
A Dialogue on Solitude.
Socialite: It's company that cleans man's finest parts
Through bright assistance pr...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:31:00 GMT |
'HOW I BECAME A MAN' - Sean Philip |
How I Became a Man
or A Severe Case of Penile Leprosy
It was a strange morning. I woke up and didn't quite feel right, you know, sometimes when you wake up in a hotel roo...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:28:00 GMT |
'Spring Cleaning' by Sophie Curtis |
Spring Cleaning
Above the stairs and out of sight a cluster of spiders evade the light.
Relics of furniture evoke a tomb: a decaying jungle in a forsaken room.
T...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:26:00 GMT |
'Scunnered' by Jessica Griffiths |
Scunnered
My best friend said:
"you just get wee scunnered[1] days it doesn't mean you don't love him"
I am not so sure
I fear I am tired of you
There is nothing new in...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:24:00 GMT |
'Blue Heat' by Lindsay Jane Murray Stanton |
Blue Heat
We were an unopened gift back then.
Gold ribbons and shimmery paper.
Shy private smiles lingered on the frosty breath
Between our timid lips.
Eyes crinkled i...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 05:19:00 GMT |
'The Consolation Prize' by Kara Brown |
He cups her cheeks in his palms,
her eyes ripe with tears,
hands hanging limply,
fingers twitching as
synapses silently fire,
searching for the knowledge
that strains to be found.
But as he hol...
Posted by on Sun, 18 Mar 2007 09:59:00 GMT |
'Call Girl' by Sophie Curtis |
Walking, achy-legged, through sleazy backstreets; sluttish slap beginning to fade; she pauses to inhale the fumy air.
Cars drive past too fast spraying her boots with murky urban rain;resen...
Posted by on Sun, 18 Mar 2007 09:57:00 GMT |
'Mausoleum' by Will Hunt |
My grandfather's library
was my grandfather.
I can trace his life
through the dust on the bookshelves.
Four rooms away,
knowledge
(in many languages)
tumbles from his temples
as sure as his...
Posted by on Sun, 18 Mar 2007 09:55:00 GMT |
