Michael Ashley




The congregation of trees

stands with the wind
hoofing its way through their limbs
we kneel beneath
in the dark
in the rich mulch of their clothes
hand in hand
the deep howl of an Atlantic front
above us
pray hard
cos God doesn’t fuck around




Michael Ashley is a full time thinker and occasional writer. He is nearing old and lives in West Yorkshire with his partner, two dogs, two cats, and a couple of spiders. He’s had some success with getting his scrawling shit published. He is currently an editor at www.Poetrycircle.com.

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Ian Clarke





Drug route, gun route-
nappies, cartons and bottles

below griffs and hags.
The moor a midden of shit, ash and offal,

the dead seeping into drains.
And by a cairn a sheep slate-grey

hard up against a gale,
and the road east brake-light red

sliding down the valley’s throat
to Sheffield.




Ian Clarke was born Wisbech, Cambridgeshire and lives in Harrogate, North Yorkshire and is published widely in magazines and anthologies.  Recent collections include A Slow Stirring from Indigo Dreams Press and BARD 132, a broadsheet in a completely different register available from Atlantean Publishing.

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Jody Porter




Café Auteur

On every café commute your Godard eye
transmutes the mannequins of lingerie windows
into beings just like us (with regrets and sorrows and loves).

You command a New Wave brilliance for things
in each of your photographs. I feel terribly mortal
in the company of your beauty.

A melodrama of lipstick upon a cup
with a backdropped fringe of ivy spilling black and white.
An unspecial bird made special mid-flight.

You’re more artist than I will ever be.
Who was it by breaking made
your cinematic heart?





Jody Porter is poetry editor of the Morning Star. His work has appeared in Magma, Best British Poetry and elsewhere. Originally from Essex, he now lives in London where he runs events at the Stoke Newington Literary Festival. This is his website: http://alldeciduousthings.tumblr.com/

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Mark Totterdell




Temple Meads

Beneath vast curves of brick and iron and stone,
I bend towards the small black tablet,
trying to establish a connection.

His works are mighty; the fabled bridge
that spans nothing, the great ship that came home.
Now, everything is shrunk. I search for links.

On an old map it’s shown as simple fields.
There’ll be some story of gods and nature
that a few clicks will find. My finger’s poised.




Mark Totterdell’s poems have appeared in magazines including Ambit, The Interpreter’s House, The Rialto and Stand. His collection This Patter of Traces was published by Oversteps Books in 2014. Website; http://marktotterdell.moonfruit.com

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Gregg Dotoli





we are on the Isthmus
past-present soil
growing crowded and carbon-hot
is that tide higher?
where is that lake?
those polar bears swim
but aren’t walruses
scary-odd December-spring day
in the big baked Apple
I like Florida, but
it’s coming to me
not me to it




Gregg Dotoli lives in New York City area and has studied English at Seton Hall University. He works as a white hat hacker, but his first love is the arts.  His poems have been published in, Quail Bell Magazine, The Four Quarters Magazine, Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, Halcyon Magazine, Allegro Magazine, the Mad Swirl, Voices Project, Writing Raw and Down in the Dirt.

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Charles G Lauder




Late in the Evening
The rapid tap of rain
is hands on skin,

ground hard
from the day’s dry tread

made loose by this
roof-tap down-piss.

Lost amidst slap-dash
dots and splashes,

nothing to be seen
but still a sense

of something relayed
in the rhythm,

like code passed
between posts,

between a tree falling
and an ear waiting,

an old know,
that we are never alone.




Charles G Lauder Jr is from Texas and has lived in south Leicestershire since 2000. His poems have appeared internationally, and his pamphlet Bleeds was published in 2012. He is the Assistant Editor for The Interpreter’s House.

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