K. S. Moore



The Changeling Spiders

The changeling spiders
borrow their skull-heads
from fairies, who leave them
in corners, to spin out earthly
imaginings of themselves,

haunt and drop with
bent-thorn legs, a
dance they were born to
execute softly. Their webs
are dirty grey chains,

hung at the highest points
in each room, they take
time to break, grow back,
are stubborn, hold me
unclean, ashamed.



K. S. Moore‘s poetry has recently appeared in New Welsh Review, The Honest Ulsterman, Boyne Berries, The Lonely Crowd, The Stinging Fly and Southword. Shortlists have included: Trim Poetry Competition, Americymru West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition and Blog Awards Ireland.  http://ksmoore.com/

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Melissa Todd reviews ‘In My Arms’ by Setareh Ebrahimi




Setareh Ebrahimi is the most sensual of writers. To enter her world is to navigate a region of heightened sensation and dizzying intimacy. The mood of In My Arms is breathless, deathless, hushed, brimming with imagery that engages and intoxicates the senses.

Her subject matter lists heavily to the corporeal, the thin skeins that link body to body, male to female, life to death, mother to child. Her poetry cries of our interconnectivity, and how, despite surface differentials, we are more than united; indeed, we are invariably transubstantiated, one to the other, through our interactions. Nothing stands alone in Ebrahimi’s world, and nothing is as it seems. The trappings of culture and civilisation are decried as irrelevant illusions, distractions from the physical world which transcends and unifies. In Learning to Draw Darwin she describes how the portrayal of human figures in a childish hand moves away from truth when bodies become clothed:

a dull point disguised as politics
a self-referencing, outer membrane.
The costumes become so fantastic
they obscure the humans they contain.
Perhaps she again wants abstraction, freedom.

That urge to cast off obscuration and seek physical freedom resonates throughout the work, even explored on the cover, which shows a woman’s torso curving in on itself, lean, balletic, ready to pounce. It’s women’s bodies that grace these pages, and in particular their relation to family and motherhood. It almost feels an unwelcome intrusion when a man makes an appearance in A Ghost in Berlin, one of the finest poems in the collection; the shockingly dark down/secretly on his body/the long hair, the beard – the reader is invited to observe the writer disappear as she reflects her ghost back upon himself, and underscores how very female the book has been up to this point.

The tactile nature of this work, the vivid, familial moments it describes, offer the reader a gently voyeuristic thrill. We watch Ebrahimi caress soft flesh with a delicate, reverent touch, describing its feel, fragrance, taste, in language almost unbearably revealing and intimate. This collection is a hymn to the body, its profound truths, its heightened connectivity, and within our contemporary society, the tragedy of its limitations, the hush that must, of necessity, fall upon it.

The tremendous crafting which has generated In My Arms borders on the obsessive – there is an unashamed lack of perspective here, an intimate exploration of the minutest detail. There is only the body, and the poet’s relation to and worship of it. It’s richly intoxicating, lavish and occasionally overwhelming. I want to pass through life unnaturally undisturbed and not disturbing, she cries, and in this collection she undoubtedly accomplishes her ambition; yet –  Release me from the drama of love and let me be free, she continues, and one wonders, selfishly, what on earth Ebrahimi would find to write about if ever she got her wish.




Melissa Todd is a writer and performer from Broadstairs, Kent, and the director of Hags Ahoy Theatre Company. Currently she is writing a book with award winning poet Matt Chamberlain.

In My Arms by Setareh Ebrahimi is published by Bad Betty Press and available here: https://badbettypress.com/arms-setareh-ebrahimi/

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Jack Little




The Metro After 1AM

Each station marks an anonymous arrival.
Behind screens, each tunnel descent is metal cold
and hot air, cutting deeper into the Earth
bright lights blinking on the city’s last bend
before the volcanic rock, the lake bed,
the resting yard of all trains lined graffiti white,
pinked to dusk, passing stones all full of yesterday’s kisses
empty except for the dream-horses of sleeping commuters.



Jack Little (b. 1987) is a British-Mexican poet, editor and translator based in Mexico City. He is the author of Elsewhere (Eyewear, 2015) and is the founding editor of The Ofi Press. @JLittleMexico

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Maxine Rose Munro




He grows 

I gave birth to Restless, and oh how
he prowls this house, testing, testing
the strength of my walls. Pushing
at limits to find weaknesses he
stores for future use, careful
with his words. He knows
soon will come his
time, not mine.

I gave birth to Restless
and, oh! how he grows and grows.




Maxine Rose Munro is a Scottish poet who writes in both English and her native Shetlandic Scots. She is widely published in the UK, in print and online, including Ink, Sweat and Tears, and her work has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Find her here www.maxinerosemunro.com

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Tim Love




Stranger tractor

The chaos of story creation settles into
seven plots. A key turns, releasing birds
from a 5-barred gate, a 1-bar atonal stave,
to peck like words in churned furrows.

Somewhere, a dripping tap.

Blind mice are trapped in a shrinking rectangle of
uncut wheat. Metal detectors stroke fallow fields
for resolution. Round and round again, you shake
your fist at relic-hunters stealing your memories.

Somewhere, a clicking clock.

The slowest wings are the saddest, each beat a final
heave towards the shore. Buckets of water are poured
over a stranded whale until it dies and is towed
to the fields, treadmarks swallowed by endless tides.



Tim Love’s publications are a poetry pamphlet Moving Parts (HappenStance) and a story collection By all means (Nine Arches Press). He lives in Cambridge, UK. His poetry and prose have appeared in Stand, Rialto, Magma, Unthology, etc. He blogs at http://litrefs.blogspot.com/

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Dipo Baruwa-Etti





Before a table of white
People, I stand with ballet
Slippers strapped/soft soles
Head pointed towards the angels.

A dance, I commence. Pirouette
Grand adage, en point
Followed by flight as a helium
Addicted balloon.

Circling a table of white
People, I act as the Central
Line: quick/convenient/
Struggling to breathe.

A dance, I conclude. Magic
Hopefully proven
Gate optimistically opened
Handcuffs gracefully broken.






Dipo Baruwa-Etti is a playwright and poet. He has been published in The Good Journal, Amaryllis, and had his work showcased nationwide as part of End Hunger UK’s touring exhibition on food insecurity.

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