The Last Lesbian Bar in the Midlands by cleo henry
This first pamphlet from Fourteen Poems as expected set a high bar, bringing together literary and classical imagary with the authentic, earthy even, experience of Lesbian life and love.
Keeper by Mícheál McCann
Already a fan of Mícheál’s work this is a delight.
from Just Afer rain, 6 p.m. the line “Fallen rain falling again.” is so good.
John 20:15 is a gem of a reflection on our relationships with our bodies as much as it is an common on the resurrection – it will have to make its way into an Open Table liturgy at some point.
Aubade with Bombay Cat is a powerful study on love.
antonyms for burial by ellora sutton
With a diverse range of form this is complex set of poems
One of them …
Moonshot
Pork chow mein in the park,
the meat red-lipped, girlish.
My new dress is ruined
with sticky red sauce
in the shape of an iris.
She looks at me
and I have the tiny yet full body of a starling
the size of a whole heart
beating rapidly. I am bones
blue as Heaven in her tinfoil carton.
I read somewhere once
that this planet can only withstand
five more atomic bombs
and this, surely, must be one of them.
with your chest by Remi Graves
A playful collection despite the big themes it addresses
From it…
children know what they like
no one can tell me otherwise.
I used to babysit Christophe
who loved the stretch of
washing up gloves, the leather
straps of his school shoes,
buckles and belts,
would tell us all about it at dinner
because he didn’t know
yet, who he could trust
how shame turns
all flavour to dust
The Islands of Chile by David Nash
Each poem is titled after an Chilean Island – a concept album that can give you a bit of a twitch – but in this case totally unjustified – there is no conceit, nothing contrived here – it is a delight
Isla Grande de Chiloé / Ireland
42º40’36 S, 73º59’36 W / 53º25 N, 8º0 S
We’re the same.
Your hands have known more work and your teeth are whiter
but we’re the same.
Only in the rear-view mirror does your form shift,
like mine does.
When your rivers are cold they do not know they are cold.
My rivers, too, are simple things.
You have made compromises to beauty; I am less beautiful than I could be.
We’re the same.
You can turn the rain and you have a heartbeat that you take for granted.
So do I.
You are not quite your name.
We’re are the same.
What have you cast off in translation? What have you won?
What have I?
You are surrounded. You are greener and less green. Your scent is yours alone.
We’re are the same.
Look, how your waters end up in mine.
Amphibian by Georgie Henley
Inhibition
it smells of lonely in here
and my cleaned-yesterday pussy
which is a word I used to loathe
before the ambit of my brain became
22 sanctioned walls
slipping between both hands
larger than a heart and discerning,
eel-slick, probably greyish
but I prefer to think it pink
and cool like fridge-frosted peaches -
the other night I had
a sudden urge
to spill pomegranate seeds
in my public hair
and let them hide a while
winking jewels in high resolution
itch scratched
scalp glowing
Based on a True Story by Thomas Stewart
There is great honesty in Thomas’ poems…
In look me in the eye when we’re fucking the line “… I didn’t know whether to pull myself out | of your asshole or fuck you until you came to get it over with...” really resonates, times when it is easier to pretend.
You’ve Got Mail has a softer feel, the way familiar films can be a comfort blanket – realising that I had a handful of DVDs that I would watch repeatedly, and yet I have probably not watched in the last decade – but I can still quote Steel Magnolias, Where Eagles Dare, Brokeback Mountain, North West Frontier (for all the political incorrectness), and The Beiderbecke Affair as if I watched them yesterday – they have transitioned into a place where I can get move of the comfort without actually even watching them…
And then I felt very ‘seen’ when I got to…
spending hours on Grindr, wasting time
I had plans today to enjoy
the simple tasks of taking
the bins out,
hoovering,
doing laundry, reading
by the fire, smoking in
the rain, writing under
candlelight.
I was supposed to fall in love
with this city, a ship amongst
crowds, plucking flowers
instead
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