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Black text on white reads: from 'Testimonies (Scotland 1623 - 1930)' by Hamish Whyte

from Testimonies (Scotland 1623 – 1930)

by Hamish Whyte — PAISLEY, 1684 // Margaret Whythill, spouse to James Love, / said she saw James Algie, a merchant, bring his wife / to the close mouth and throw her down / in the strand and saw her rise again

Continue readingfrom Testimonies (Scotland 1623 – 1930)

Wet for Literature

by Devon Webb — I used to go out of my way to get laid / but now I’m lying here on a man’s bed / thirsting for the third instalment in the Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman / you know like I’m not even that fussed about sex anymore I just wanna read

Continue readingWet for Literature
Black text on white reads: 'Visiting David Hockney by Michael Di Placido' with a small Friday Poem yellow blob over the top half of the 'it' 'in ‘visiting.

Visiting David Hockney

by Michael Di Placido — He looks up and half smiles / as I drift in and settle on a chair — / as though I was expected: / “The studio would have to be a riot / of colour with you in it”, I say. / And when I tell him I live near Brid — / not far from his mum's

Continue readingVisiting David Hockney
Black text on white reads: 'Epitaphs by Stephen Payne' with half a big yellow Friday Poem blob rising like a sun from the bottom edge

Epitaphs

by Stephen Payne — TINKER // Despite the name, he worked with several metals. / Despite the name, he worked with craft and care. / Let him forget about the pans and kettles / that all his tinkering could not repair. // TAILOR // Although his future

Continue readingEpitaphs
Black text on white reads: "Phobia by Nicholas Hogg". There's a quarter of a big yellow Friday Poem blob over the top right hand side.

Phobia

by Nicholas Hogg — We used to play a game called Stuntman, / I explain, when once again I'm called a psychopath / because I don't get scared on fairground rides. / I try to convey that fear / was leaping off the Co-op roof into a skip

Continue readingPhobia
Black text on white reads: "How It Began by Charlotte Muse". There's half a medium sized yellow Friday Poem blob on the far left hand side.

How It Began

by Charlotte Muse — The barrel maker gathered up all his wooden soldiers. / One by one he set them where he wanted them. / I am making one of the wonders of the world! he announced. / You will see! And he made a show of planing wood.

Continue readingHow It Began

Mirage

by Jeremy Wikeley — I’m driving. The devil’s riding shotgun. / Well? He waves out the window. Was it worth it? /  Ahead, the A36 piles into Wiltshire / like a needle piercing through a quilt. / The countryside is a knotted rope of cars. / I'm driving.

Continue readingMirage

Crowned

by Maria Taylor — Anna who’ll become my mother / enters the café. The matchmaker waves from her till. / Her nephew is thirty-eight. / Anna is thirty-one. She sees crowns of white blossom / crossing over their heads. A money dance. // Hears a baby

Continue readingCrowned

The Day Cattle Broke Through the Fence at the Outbreak of the Ukraine War

by Graham Mort — They were belted Galloways, black with milky / cummerbunds, grazing in the field below gardens / between mole hills and thistles above the beck / that

Continue readingThe Day Cattle Broke Through the Fence at the Outbreak of the Ukraine War

Erasures

by Maryann Corbett — It was, he first explains, a summer job. / The sort you ordinarily forget — / work-study, during graduate school. His task / was hauling the condemned away for burning / or rending limb from limb. Not people, no, / but books

Continue readingErasures

Boulder Song

by Wendy Pratt — The boulder sings like a tuning fork sings; / vibrating with the glacier’s movement. Listen. // Opposite a bus shelter, beside a bypass, / the boulder sings a Shap granite score / back to the pressure of its creation. // It is a sound

Continue readingBoulder Song

Tellisford Weir

by Ruth Sharman — We’ve swum in this river before, / though no one steps / in the same river twice. // The glassy shock, four or five frantic strokes / before we glide downstream / as if we could go on for ever: // these are familiar; what's new

Continue readingTellisford Weir
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