All posts tagged: New Poetry

“Since She Did That” and other poems by E.D. Hickey

Home I rub, and RUB my eyes; Ferocious; Don’t, Don’t, sweetheart. Then the plane tips toward the cool thick Irish sea So that I can face it Gaze into it From my seat. Home! Clouds bubble over the razor wings The light jumps into my tired gaze. Home!   Steel There must be steel in women Who say no. I am made of utter fudge Compelled, somehow, to reply and smile And be grateful for the fleeting interest. This is exactly the kind of thing A better me Would never do.   August I have never been so hollow I will never be so hollow I just felt so hollow When I refused to fix it When you left that city a day too early When you cried to your mother on the phone She doesn’t even know me I wish I could tell her I was sorry.   Stucco I want to build I want to – I need to restructure Gut my foundations Cut into the old black brick below me Throw it …

“A Guide to Feel-Good Doom” and other poems by Lisa Ardill

Dimples I am the wind that sighs at night through your bedroom window making your lovely hairs take flight. They rest against your cheek like affectionate little arms, and cling to your freckled flesh, its rosy flush their one dimpled source of life. Those could be my arms, holding fast to that imperfect reservoir into which I slip further each moment, sliding towards that gentle dip at the centre of your smooth skin. there is one on each side, To kidnap both mind and matter. The day I tumble into that tiny pool of love I will drown. and then I will float in your falling tears that follow me down whether those of sadness or joy, I will never know but either will hold me captive. Colourful Language your words are like flowers that come alive in a cold spring shooting from the ground with a gentleness that encumbers a hidden force they unearth their surroundings and mask others with their wondrous scent but sometimes their beauty is only soil deep the meaning tucked …

|The Girl in The Photograph| and other poems by Shreya Barua

|The Girl in The Photograph|   I’ll take you by the hand and show you what it’s like to sit under neon signs when the city goes to sleep and you’ll have known a little bit more about what magic looks like I’ll take you by the lips and show you what it’s like to taste the snowflakes I caught on my tongue and you might get to know a lot bit more about what dreams feel like I’ll take you to places you’ll forget to remember I’ll show you things your eyes won’t believe until you start to wonder if I am real; if any of it is So, I’ll let go of your hand one final time break away from your lips one last time wrap all the magic and dreams around your little finger and go back to being the girl in the photograph |Syria’s Daughter|   I am Syria’s daughter. I will soon be just as forgotten as my name is. And when they come for me rummaging through heaps of …

“Vase Painters” and other poems by Magdalene Fry-Bigby

Fractyl Poem — Seeming, Appearance and Being How the true was with world Is sometimes bricked Out with bangles, Sound and sight both alike. Put your paint this Side, put it that Side, we talk a lot, like Talkers. And face This way, blink, brush Through lashes, powder on Powders, a look For, or about, Female, they say, so too, Some male, they say, So too this or Sewn to that. Or, some say Wine is crossed best In a vat, brains, Birds, nests like glowed on Dendrytic leaves, A state, or a Syntax, both one And the same. Say Most who say on What is seen and what is Thought, and what it Is that being Is, and yet can sometimes Be not, and then Become again.   Fractyl Poem: Be Nothing That Is, Not Hello is good, morning, Evening, night, We say Good to. How are you is peaceful It brings glad and Not angry thoughts. We listen, we hear things The conversing Has its ears told. Which is how televised Religious yes …

“English Breakfast Love Song” and other poems by Rhiannon Grant

English Breakfast Love Song   I am longing to pour out my soul to you in words which show my creativity and let off my head of steam but my soul is not so liquid it comes out in funny lumps uneven like old-fashioned sugar ready to make sure your tea is always too sweet and never sweet enough. Unengaged Concepts   Your thin God – onmithis, omnithat— is nothing beside the wildness of Goddess.   Love and suffering may have reasons but are not rational.   You say we can know about ‘chastity’ without living it.   Really?   Outside a seminar in a thick press of people could you look the right way maintain your dress just so be chaste in soul in ways you cannot describe?   You can use the word ‘God’ in a sentence.   So far, so good.   Do not presume to know what my God is like: how flowers dance for Her how Thou is there in silence how His sentences would make no sense to you. …