Joseph Bazalgette, Victorian civil engineer and builder of the city’s sewer network As the lid closes on Hammersmith Road, muffling the crunch of brewers’ carts, stifling shouts from laundry windows, …
Poetry London Clore Prize 2018 THIRD PRIZE: Heaven by Selima Hill
We take a yellow cabbage to the hens then carry on downhill to the boats, my uncle in his little crumpled hat, me in shorts, half-hidden in the hair my …
Poetry London Clore Prize 2018 SECOND PRIZE: Children of the Revolution by S K Kim
for my cousins First the meat disappeared from our rations, then the rice, then the barley and millet, then the rations vanished. _____ We caught croakers, cuttlefish, hauled creels of …
Poetry London Clore Prize 2018 FIRST PRIZE: Names by Romalyn Ante
‘We are nameless and all names are ours.’ – Emmanuel Lacaba My mother’s name is Rosana, but when she left, I had other mothers. Rowena, Jimboy, Alma. I was named …
The mother dream by Rebecca Perry
Daughter, the door is open. For once leave the raincloud outside. Learn how to get along with offal for the sake of your iron levels. Squeamishness will get you nowhere …
Motörhead Expression 0.1.06 – by Robert Herbert McClean
I trust I no longer, I change too quickly, I refute, I refute I change too quickly, I clamber, always alone, scrambling frost on height of longing, I despise my …
Cakewalk by Jericho Brown
My man swears his HIV is better than mine, that his has in it a little gold, something he can spend if he ever gets old, claims mine is full …
Pivot by Andrea Brady
The light that pivots away from us at your point in this year makes you gorgeous and sleep and always returns to you, through the ellipse coloured red for winter. …
Thank You for Your Honesty by Sophie Collins
A response to digital prints, animations and texts by Niamh Riordan 1) To disturb reality using its own means and not a subjective interpretation thereof presenting the viewer with an …
Island Home for Isabelle Huppert (La Truite) Extract by Geraldine Clarkson
After Angela Dufresne World’s in love with Isabelle. Where Isabelle goes. What Isabelle knows. Isabelle’s ideal’s to live alone in green: plumped-up on an apple-bottomed sea, or pear – ooh …
The Tempest by Isobel Dixon
After Sarah Pickstone’s painting The Tempest Don’t we all want a green and pure ferocity, the lashing rain to make us naked to ourselves. Thwarted, aslant against our lives, lean …
Poems in response to paintings by Vera Iliatova by Rachael Allen
All titles are taken from Vera’s paintings Lunatic Urbaine The man who loved me pushed me to the ground in a pool of white plants. When we tell you to …
Saruk Mohajeran by Mark Waldron
Did you not know it was me, when you knelt down to pick up your glove, that it was me in the bristly touch of the carpet? I’d had a …
Creating the Memory Collage by Alice Notley
Because I was mourning Doug so hard but push out onto page Alma, or The Dead Women I couldn’t then react too to 9/11 and I have placed it where …
Milk by Emma Jeremy
It was easy not to like him, because of the milk. It bled from every pore of him, thousands of tiny waterfalls of milk. Milk-falls. You would think that he …
The Detectives by Jane Yeh
No matter where we go, it always looks like California. Get in the car and drive. Our invisible friend Comes with us everywhere, like a shadow. He tells us how …
