Kate Noakes




Into L’Orangerie

I’m not ready to yield to the notion of garden
chalky-soft and muted, a green mat so bright
in the sun it silvers, jewels scribble flowers
life-size, bold, holding the year’s nectar

but on dark days when river-wind over gravel
bites at my heels, chases me
I can see how it might work as I step unnoticed
over the brass rail and slip into the walls.

At pond’s edge, my feet take root, my arms
branch and break into leaf, my fingertips
weep into the water. Purples and blues
are my last colours, air rushes my bark
and at sunset, I fire.



Kate Noakes‘ fifth collection is Tattoo on Crow Street (Parthian, 2015). Her website (boomslangpoetry.blogspot.com) is archived by the National Library of Wales. She was elected to the Welsh Academy in 2011. She lives between Paris and London.

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Andrew Button





Three Giraffes

Passing them in my car
on the way to work,
I saw three giraffes
in the rush hour jungle.
The tallest staring straight ahead,
the middle one turning traffic wards
and the smallest eyeing the heavens.
Stranded amidst the wreckage
of this garden centre car park
commandeered by builders’ huts
and construction site clutter.
Full size replicas
abandoned by the wire fence,
rope leads cut,
force fed roadwork views.
Silently pleading on the sentimental frequency
for someone with suitable transport
to affect their escape from neglect,
the indifference of hard hats
and fall out of brick dust rain.
In their plastic despair,
Toys ‘R’ Us looms like a savannah.




Andrew Button lives in Market Bosworth, Leicestershire. He has had poems published in various magazines including Orbis, The Interpreter’s House, Canon’s Mouth and Under the Radar. Andrew enjoys the thrill of open mic performance when not working as a librarian in Warwick.

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John Hawkhead


riding a pale horse
up the needle to a vein
slipping through shadows


another mottle
on the back of her hand
the slow IV drip


threads of dark crimson
coiling through liquid gold
sunlit catheter



John Hawkhead is a writer of haiku and other short poetry forms. He is a recent winner of the 2016 Lincoln Underground international haiku competition and a previous winner of the Haiku Foundation’s international haiku competition. His work has been published all over the world and his book of poetry and haiku Witness is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and iTunes.

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Stephen Nelson




The Sun Spear

You are pierced, it’s true,
and the sun has seared your child flesh;
but since we share a flame,
and since we spin like spirits in a ceilidh of flames,
I am split and seared with you,
kilted to our wounds
by a fine, sharp pin, sawn from the bone.

It’s not enough to scorch the wound,
or smudge our flesh with sage;
we need to bathe in sea water,
allow a salted, sizzling ecstasy to our veins,
as if a galaxy of butterflies could beat the waves with their wings,
and lift the drowning infant into the arms
of a broken mother.

Then we might at last caress the pain,
sew it to the infinite comfort
of a new born mythology,
without the kiss of guilt,
or bite of history
as kindling.




Stephen Nelson is the author of Lunar Poems for New Religions (KFS Press) and Thorn Corners (erbacce-press). His latest book is a Xerolage of visual poetry called Arcturian Punctuationhttp://xexoxial.org/is/xerolage61/by/stephen_nelson. He blogs visual poetry at www.afterlights-vispo.tumblr.com.

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Paul Little


‘If it’s New Daffodils to be Dying in May’

Taking online lessons in how to best greet that
certain someone if bumping into them again
didn’t prepare me at all
for someone just looking quite like that “certain someone”
walking in and disturbing the reading and my beer.

So, escaping out of a window and falling off towards
the scene of our last great failure, I stepped onto
some daffodils
dying in a window box on the sill. It was then my fellow drinkers
suggested the title ‘If it’s New Daffodils to be Dying in May’.

And on reaching the last stanza I sense a colouring occur
an interruption making clear
a simple lyric poem
attempting an escape from a simple lyric poem
in recognising quite a few have been taken in this way.




Paul Little works and lives in London. He has written for Litro magazine; writes about music every week on his blog Going For A Song; and was shortlisted for the 2013 Bridport Poetry Prize.


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Charlie Baylis




Saturday morning

Preciosa hangs her baby on the wind, the father, look:
smoke is rising from the mezquita, the nuns
walk by the children’s cemetery, bless the little coffins, look:

Archangels are breathing autumn over the balcony, treacle
stars tumble from the tumbler of gin to the tablecloth
that is the night’s mirror: day, pushing through air like the sixty nine

tattoed to her side, beauty scatters over sweet summers
flagged by maple and the green man under the olive grove
that the wolves kiss, after biting the parchment moon to pieces, look:

Preciosa’s smile lifts the sunrise over Spain




Charlie Baylis lives and works in Nottingham. He reviews poetry for Stride. His own creative writing has most recently appeared in Stride, Agave and Litro, he has been shortlisted for the  Bridport Prize (UK)  and nominated for a Pushcart Prizes (US)

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Anna Cates


old farmhouse

wet snow falls

on the backs of pigs


sun-bleached cattle bones

a dung beetle burrows

in the midden


shady forests

swallowed whole by fire

one charred acorn


waning rose

an ant bears

my burden



from the first world

I am an alien


the sun

never losing its turn—

how sweat feeds rivers


Anna Cates resides in Ohio and teaches in an online M.F.A. in creative writing program.  A regular contributor to literary publications, her first full length collection of haiku and other poems, The Meaning of Life, is available at Amazon.com. Anna is also in the Living Haiku Anthology.

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