Josh Ekroy




is a winding but necessary route
to the pinnacles of equality.
To strip a flat bare is to fill it with light;
objects usher in the dark.
Few homes today are forgivable
as the rank odour of my pervades them
so burglary is purifying,
an amicable greeting by the robbers,
their way of letting you know you are useful
and therefore that they accept you.
You may be proud they sit at your desk
and riffle through your papers. It is true
they are looking for cash or trying to adopt
your identity but did anyone else ever show
such an active interest in your life?
And they admire your onyx ornaments,
wish they could get a worthy price for them.
The admiration of a thief is sincere
so you can feel safe, as long as you let yourself
be freely robbed. The moment you inform the police
and they begin their stumbling enquiries
is the moment you should move out.
If you instal a burglar alarm, even a token box
on the front elevation,
your burglars will feel insulted.
If on the other hand you purchase
a costly bunch of sparrow-hawk feathers
from the blind girl in the Strike St Market
and hang them over your door
nothing will disappear from your rooms.




Josh Ekroy’s collection Ways To Build A Roadblock is published by Nine Arches. He lives in London .

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Beth McDonough




Aegopodium podagraria, a Praise Song.


Now, I’ll choose to love
this bishop weed’s

I shall admire
his knit-wire roots,
tenacious crazing
tangle- down
to anybody’s

I will hymn
some centurion’s aromatic
salad – grab
that verve and grist,
salute its Gallovidian indefatigability
Roman invincibility,
roaming in Scotland’s slushing wet
or three-month frost.

I will now shout
exactly how to pound
tasty wild-form pesto, not accept
some basil-puny
imposter from
the Co.

I can sing at starry undie whites
of fecund umbel flowers,
encourage them to sprint
to seed – should  their under-
soil capilliaries prove
inadequate. I’d hate
to be unable to worship
this mighty
bishop weed.




Beth McDonough’s poetry appears in Gutter, Antiphon and elsewhere; she reviews in DURA. Her pamphlet Handfast with Ruth Aylett (2016, Mother’s Milk Books, available on Amazon UK) explores family experiences – Aylett’s of dementia and McDonough’s of autism.

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Anthony Lawrence






The once-in-a-thousand-year-flood came and went.

We listened as though blood were a tide

our bedroom an ark. At dawn we understood

the full extent of what had occurred:

as there was no sun, we attended a critical mass

in our underwear. A town went by, followed

by a stunned population, all wearing plover masks.

You were at the window, giving a commentary

on the direction of the wind. I lay on the bed

listening to a public broadcast of the dangers

of being out alone, after dark. You reported

people walking through the steady rain

of a pamphlet-drop. I put the words diaspora

and exodus up for discussion. Your voice broke

with news of street executions being carried out

by gangs by torchlight. They say that hardship

calls forth the best and worst in relationships.

The sky was red, the ground white with ash.

By such extremes were our differences exposed.




Anthony Lawrence has published sixteen books of poems and a novel. He teaches Creative Writing and Writing Poetry at Griffith university, Gold Coast, Queensland and lives on the far north coast of New South Wales. Click here for more:


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Michael Farry


The Beach

Dead sand trickles between my naked toes.
Crushed winter light befuddles borders,
obscures the pier, unsettles the breakwater;
ships labour under dubious cargoes.

Swimmers and surfers, those gritty heroes
of the shallows, have deserted, children,
amateur architects in sand and stone,
fled for comfort to the cheerful shadows.

The deaf land concentrates on revelry
and commerce, ignores the looming triremes,
the insensitive advance of the sea,

its woeful burdens. From nearby, someone
Von Braun or Menelaus maybe, salutes.
Desolate, I raise my shaven head, scream.





Michael Farry was selected for Poetry Ireland Introductions 2011. His poetry collection, Asking for Directions, was published by Doghouse Books in 2012. His poetry has been published in journals and anthologies in Ireland, UK, USA, Israel, Australia and Canada.

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Carole Bromley


The New Mother

found poem from Every Woman’s Doctor Book
If your figure is not as trim as before
make yourself a brassiere
from a 45 inch length of towelling.

Most mothers whose figures are loose
will be much improved
by wearing a good corset belt.

If there are obvious rolls of fat
in the stomach wall you will need
a controlling under-belt.

Have a daily sponge-down or tepid bath
and give every inch of your body
a brisk towelling afterwards.

Sufferers from falling hair
can take a general tonic such as
Easton’s Syrup or Parrish’s Chemical Food.

The tissues are relaxed and tender
for a month after a baby is born
and especially when stiches have been needed.

It is wise to wait for six weeks.
I have known instances where married lives
have been rendered miserable.




Carole Bromley has two collections with Smith/Doorstop (A Guided Tour of the Ice House, 2011 and The Stonegate Devil, 2015) A collection for children, Blast Off!, will be published in 2017.

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Jane Wilkinson


Your location

Round the corner I hear you
coming I hear you coming
round the corner of the barn
I arrange my arms and legs
I hear around the corner
of the barn the gravel’s tough
back teeth working doggedly
on splintering a bone
I spin up a cloud
of smoke to be within
position myself beneath the salty buttered light
farm manure bellows cold pools like clouds of sound rising slowly as the milky way
we gather like water
and ripple open





Jane Wilkinson was short listed for Lo and Behold the Poetry School’s micro-commission 2014 and has a response poem to a Shakespeare sonnet in 154 anthology 2016. She lives in London with her family and is a Landscape Architect.

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