is that boring for you
so boring
you needn’t know
so boring as to be so bent
*
you are welcome
to stop reading
this poem now
whoever you are
thanks
By Pam Brown.
A foot and mouth pig pyre,
where a farmer muttering.
the proximity of fire
to light his face.
You’ve a shock coming to you,
he says,
loads a rifle.
SJ Fowler‘s response to Brexit.
Bone poised on a stone scarp tilted like an accusation
to the sky,
he sees first the seismic cracks, then Europe drift away.
Slowly he lifts a wing to peck and pull at a single feather,
holds it there
then watches it drop spinning down into the chosen abyss.
Ben Myers‘ poetic response to Brexit.
Did not really sleep: no Xanax
yesterday, which means I won’t sleep,
then the next night is usually OK,
Xanax or no. It’s Christmas Eve
in Spain, the important day. We’ll
break Dorota’s wafer. My mood
is less good than yesterday when
I would call it ‘normal’. I am weepy
when I even think of M. The Wok
meal upset his stomach.
By Kathryn Maris.
The Rasputin of elephants, Mademoiselle Garnier’s ungovernable pachyderm was poisoned three times (unsuccessfully) before it was shot with a four-pounder cannon (successfully). It was 31 May 1820 in Geneva, and I’d have said they were different times until a zoo gorilla was shot today in Cincinnati for the crime of holding a boy. Was the gorilla scheming or protecting?
By Erik Kennedy.
between you and me i actually think i could fall for your demolition / recall my share of mortgage a friend injected at a fixed rate / teenage years returning with a dream of home / the back half built of something with a shelf life of canned fruit / so we coughed and coughed to hack up our tangible architecture / a viscous skeleton standing for air / blue pink / sinking hands / plughole eyes / i’m so still in the face of it i feel you dislodging inside / bearing earth from around your foundations in search of blood waving its little white dress / as long as need be / the life led there to be spent /
By Alex Houen.
Only to mention one more thing;
that box you got me. It fulfilled
this problem, that you looked for the outside-in
and got the inside-out. Not much use
I hate to say. I hate also to give this concept back
and credit impulse more than common sense
my dear Fanny.
By Mischa Foster Poole.
Malis follows the course of the stream that once ran along Flask Walk, casting a troubled glance at the Wells and Campden Baths and Wash-Houses to her left, before continuing past Burgh House, to move through a street plan defined by the imprint of vanished spas. Tall, with heavy dreads hanging down over a dress sewn with fragments of broken mirror, she crosses the road at the intersection of Christchurch Hill and Well Walk, to enter the pub she still thinks of as the Green Man.
Paul Holman‘s hybrid poetic/psychogeographic drift from Hampstead to Camden, Fleet.
Globe… directly from Latin, globus: also, of men, ‘a throng, crowd, body, mass’, which is related to gleba: ‘clod, lump of soil’
Road… from Old English, rad: ‘riding expedition, journey, hostile incursion’; in Middle English, ‘a riding, a journey’, sense of ‘open way for travelling between two places’; the meaning ‘narrow stretch of sheltered water’ is from early C14; Old English, radwerig: ‘weary of travelling…’
By Gareth Evans.
New asemic poetry translations of Marina Tsvetayeva and visual poetry crossword poems by Belarussian avant-garde duo.
By Ekaterina Samigulina & Karen Karnak.
Square Wave by Mark de Silva
{Enthusiasm} by Steven J. Fowler
Vertigo by Joanna Walsh
Selected writings by David Winters
A selection of Richard Marshall's End Times interviews published by Oxford University Press
