Reuben Woolley

time songs



is unstable


it rolls over you
in the dark
& flattens a secret

this thing
this incessancy
is a


to twenty-four
& starts again


there is no


i’m slowly becoming

like all

the others

up to dry
on several days





Reuben Woolley has been published in various magazines including Tears in the Fence, The Lighthouse Literary Journal, The Interpreter’s House, Domestic Cherry, The Stare’s Nest and Ink Sweat and Tears. His collection, the king is dead  was published in 2014 with Oneiros Books,  and a chapbook, dying notes, in 2015 with Erbacce Press. Runner-up: Overton Poetry Pamphlet competition and the Erbacce Prize in 2015. A new collection on the refugee crisis, skins, was published by Hesterglock Press, 2016: . He pretends to be busy editing the online magazines: I am not a silent poet and The Curly Mind.

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Jane Burn



Magic Hand

The mind is a box of tricks.
Fooled by his play of hide-the-rabbit,
it tells you there is an ace up that sleeve.

Or a bunch plucked from nothing
into a burst of sham finery.
He saws you in half while you smile,

hangs a dove from his fingers,
closes the velvet curtain.
You save the best illusion for last.

The one where you swallow razor blades,
one by one on a piece of string,
then spit them back up.




Jane Burn‘s poems have been featured in magazines such as The Rialto, Under The Radar, Butcher’s Dog, Iota Poetry, as well as anthologies from the Emma Press. Her first collection, nothing more to it than bubbles, has been published by Indigo Dreams. She also established the poetry site The Fat Damsel.

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Tom Montag


Is Is

what it
is. This
is not

I am not

these lines.

The birds
speak truth
to the wind

as plain
as they can.
It does

not mean
else. It

is what
they say
it is.

Don’t look
for any-
thing more.





Tom Montag is the author of In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013, This Wrecked World, and The Miles No One Wants. He has been a featured poet at Atticus Review, Contemporary American Voices, Houseboat, and Basil O’Flaherty Review.

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Andrew Turner




The wolves were not invited

but they came regardless
their manners were dreadful
never cleaning between
their claws after meals
or their teeth at bedtime

but they displayed a certain charm
when finally agreeing to leave
placing a single golden chocolate
on the pillows where
your children used to sleep.





Andrew Turner has been published in a number of online and print magazines. He lives in Staffordshire.

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Karen Hodgson Pryce




The Scholar’s Fatigue

We dine in a swamp of papery ideas, cornered opinions;
a spiny call for digestion. When did I first reserve
a table for two? Bold and proud you stack up every day
ready to chew. In bed you block the covers
where another should be
exposing my ankles to vast inadequacy.
Half asleep I turn and slap a page awake, disturbed
by dust that doesn’t rise from your cool glossy face.
Slab by slab, you inch across my pillow, your incessant need
to saturate. Allow me to slough off the ken below the nape
contract with silliness, loll in blissful gape.
Resentment now is tome-thick, neither fulfilling
the warranty on this: to be absorbed and understood.
Yesterday I pounded you into a cupboard
to be ignored as, from time to time, books should.
But still seeps your confident pledge. I will be read.



Karen Hodgson Pryce lives, writes, and roams around the Cairngorms area of Scotland. Her poetry has been published in The Poets’ Republic, Mslexia, Open Mouse and Ink, Sweat & Tears.

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And the Pick of the Month for June 2017 is Angelica Krikler’s ‘Nature’

Out of the mouths of babes. Angelica Krikler, who wrote and submitted her poem ‘Nature’ when she was 16, streaked ahead of her fellows on the shortlist and is IS&T’s Pick of the Month for June 2017. Voters responded to the beauty of the poem and were engaged by its exceptional use of language.

Angelica lives in Essex and writes fiction and poetry outside of school. Her poem ‘Bacteria’ was published on the online Y-Magazine and another poem ‘Cleopatra’ is published in the latest issue of



Plants grow out of her eyes
Because all she sees in him is the beauty of nature
The chants she stops in her day to listen to
The air she exhales
And the mud she wipes from her feet
But nature is a vicious cycle
Two seas mix, the water never settles
Endlessly floating from the plaits in her hair and the sandy pebbles on the shore
Like the granules in a coffee pot
Weight on shoulders
Hands on the small of her back
Magnetic air between mouths
One day she’ll know what to spend her money on
One day she’ll know how to reply
She will lift up the old carpet
Dragging a tree away from its roots
Realising soon that sometimes nature must be cut away
In order to see the daylight



Voters comments included:

Angelica’s poem is beautiful, written with soul, sensitivity and maturity. Well deserving of the prize.

Unique & engaging poem

I think it’s a very powerful piece of poetry and it speaks to me on a deeper level than the others

Angelica is a phenomenal artist and writer. Her work evokes the beauty of the natural world and the wonders of our environment.

The most incredible young talent I have ever known X

Exceptional wording.

I like the use of enjambment.

…a stand out

This poem uses language cleverly and beautifully to express deep feelings and strong ideas

Beautifully written with a powerful and unexpected ending

Because I’m not a poem kind of guy but it made me think about the woman

Touched me on a personal level. Beautiful.

Amazing poem, very well written

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Story ending from 2017 FLY Short Story Runner-up 15-18 yr olds: Madeline Patrick (15)

Unperturbed, Lisa returned to her bedroom, burying her small, childish nose in her book where it belonged. She wasn’t concerned about Ollie; disappearances and reappearances of animals, people and objects were an ordinary aspect of Lisa’s extraordinary life.

Throughout the entirety of the small girl’s empty existence, she’d visited elves and faeries in a forest, then lived as an average girl at an average school. She’d go to sleep in a bed in Britain, and wake up on a canal boat in Italy. She’s had a brother, then a sister, then a pet cat named Tiffany. Every morning she lived a new life, with her presentness being the one consistent aspect of an ever-changing universe.

However, Lisa, despite being only twelve, was vastly intelligent. Therefore, sensible girl that she was, Lisa decided to rely on two things – stories, and her ability to create them.

Lisa devoured books. Her ability to read and read well was her weapon, and she wielded it without resistance. After reading her 50th book, Lisa decided it was time she wrote her own, as many ambitious and creative children do at some point. However, she struggled – writing was difficult when running from an army of stampeding elephants one second, and being in an ordinary house the next.

Therefore, it was on the day that Ollie faded out of existence that Lisa grew tired. Throwing her book to the floor, she lay, sprawled across her bed, and slept. As she slept, she dreamed of being a normal girl with one family, one home – the kind of girl that, to Lisa, existed only in stories.

As she was sleeping, she didn’t see the walls around her fade and vanish. She didn’t see her bed shimmer and disappear, or feel her now unsupported body land on the floor with a soft thud. Perhaps it was good that Lisa was sleeping, as it meant that she didn’t have to watch the disease of disappearance spread to her own body – her hands, her face, her legs, all of it crumbled, and everything filled with nothingness.



The author closed her laptop with a sombre click. It was strange, but she felt almost sorry for Lisa – the main character in all of her stories, no matter where or what or who else was involved, Lisa had been the character she felt the closest affinity with, despite her being purely a creation of the author’s own keyboard. As she wrote and rewrote, the author had changed her story so many times that even she had to admit it was time to begin again – A fresh story, with fresh characters, and no twelve year old, bookish girl who liked to create stories. Cracking her knuckles, the author lifted her pen and began to write a new story, about a boy called Ollie who loved mammoths.



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