Michael Hessel-Mial

charles olson: everybody can be scholars, thank god for jim benz   1. charles olson’s poem, “Maximus to Gloucester, letter 27 [withheld]” is so far the first and only poem that i’ve truly memorized by heart. i’ve got a few other things here and there, but this one if you called me i could recite… Continue reading Michael Hessel-Mial

Lauren Strain

I Dreamt Rapunzel Cut My teacher said we’d know we were really remembering everything once we dreamt in French. My first and only French dream came in France, when I dreamt Rapunzel cut off her own hair and climbed down the fire escape. She donated her ponytail to a charity specialising in cancer wigs. The… Continue reading Lauren Strain

James Ganas

thuswise dire Terran philippy You were how i want to be, last summer— when it was four days from July and you sat freezing. The sun now (some time later) is dappling on your back through shading swaths of leaf. The screaming of your coral dress recalls the clamor of a day parade. Too far… Continue reading James Ganas

Ross Brighton

Poem I’m finding it is air (thin) twig twist over skin under light under air thinks thick things this post-depravity is alldown andand citrus OUTfall falls out dustygulllet OH! mourn full furl moonfall I move crossways to ourselves “what do you mean? birds come out of bodies all the time” It takes little preparation to… Continue reading Ross Brighton

Lynley Edmeades

Light Here, in fenceless New Zealand Sunday’s are for mowing lawns, long walks to the cafe for breakfast, brunch, where tea-strainers have been replaced by espresso machines and coffee judged by its topographical traceability. Retirees talk about climate change like it’s a memo on the fridge door. About e-books, they say things like: you’ve got… Continue reading Lynley Edmeades

Iain Britton

strange alliance the movement is quick         methodical i pull off my jersey          the sun folds it neatly disciples of the man in the grey boiler suit         talk tactics              for standing on street corners shouting ‘repent ye’ graffiti at other faces         the day is hooked nose-like sniffing at cherry blossoms          the wild life of children female… Continue reading Iain Britton

Paul Gallagher

Roasting Plantain (Poem for Sosephina) When confronted with the wisdom of the years Even bitter fruits become moreish in palm oil. There is no battle here between past and present, youth knows To turn sweating pig meat and banana leaves on hot stones. Grey locks washed, softened in coconut milk will watch: Blushing cheeks stitched… Continue reading Paul Gallagher

Francis McWhannel

1 An abrupt halt with an exclamation for emphasis as the small child crosses your path in pursuit of an over-blown balloon the softness of his butter-blond hair and warm scalp beneath these meeting your hand extended for your own sake and his by happenstance not so his father’s insistence that he make apology nor… Continue reading Francis McWhannel

Carolyn DeCarlo

the car and the man inside they were buried there, the car and the man inside, swept over with a blanket of copper leaves under the pavement in front of the house at the end of the street. everyone knew about them, the car and the man inside, and even when we played catch-the-toad with… Continue reading Carolyn DeCarlo

Joan Fleming

Twenty questions What did my tenderness suggest to you           was it too sweet            was it not enough         What I wanted               was it too rough                 ██████ ██████████████████████████████████       Was it your pained puppy–dog ███████        eke ██████       Was it the red dogs’ feet barking through the afternoons             did they mark their needs ██████████████                                in your too–soft wood floor Was I too good          and then    at some sly test             no good at… Continue reading Joan Fleming

Samuel Carey

parisian marmite she was crushed by the moon. on her seat. heavy clap. sounded blood on iron. seat inappropriately tuned. she tried to adjust the seat but was struck by the moon. Adélaïde, moon girl with deadly vipers. her seat is blood. Adélaïde, the moon girl, killed by the moon man. he can not walk… Continue reading Samuel Carey

Magnolia Wilson

Dating Mike It’s as much a shock to me as it is to all my high-school friends. It’s quite embarrassing – how he strides up the hill in baggy jeans and still wears a gold dollar chain round his neck – even though he’s in his forties. But he’s a tender lover and I’m learning… Continue reading Magnolia Wilson

Oliver Quincy Page

1 At the age of twenty-three and a half, it would be fair to say that I am a big guy. A little over six foot. I am round and ungainly. I’ve always nursed a real distaste for my body, never more so than in these sweet, waning months of my twenty third year. My… Continue reading Oliver Quincy Page

Ashleigh Young

Driven I grew up in a small team one hour’s drive from a phonebox. It’s easy to drive for an hour but having to makes the trip forlorn. We were close-knit enough to hammer each other down into the wood. Some developed a pallor, some crawled under the bracken in pairs. Each of us eyed… Continue reading Ashleigh Young

Issue 4 / Autumn 2013

Ashleigh Young, Oliver Quincy Page, Sugar Magnolia Wilson, Samuel Carey, Joan Fleming, Carolyn DeCarlo, Francis McWhannel, Paul Gallagher, Iain Britton, Lynley Edmeades, Ross Brighton, James Ganas (USA), Lauren Strain, Michael Hessel-Mial