by Mike Ferguson
I find an air-conditioned place to sit, comfortable
chair, a half-decent magazine, and reading about
the Perambulation of the Town Leat – this
medieval custom of ... Read More...
by Gaia Holmes
First Prize in the Bare Fiction Prize for Poetry 2016
It’s a dull, wet
from the dead tonight
and we have used up
all our candles.
Today, al... Read More...
by Pete Maguire
Highly Commended in the Bare Fiction Prize for Poetry 2015
Once, I saw, a blank hand place a blank thought upon a blank page; nu poetry,
and once I heard a tree bark, a ... Read More...
‘... he cannot stir a finger, fix his thinking...’ *
by Anna Lawrence
2nd prize winner in the Bare Fiction Prize for Poetry 2015
Forty days since that lass stumbled
from the dunes and crashed
aga... Read More...
The Sword Swallower
First it’s cutlery, missing
from the kitchen table.
Steak knives clinking
under your school jumper –
holes in the sleeves cut
by your elbows, threads you unravel
in Geograph... Read More...
It's the loneliness that gets you.
The mundane silence of the company you keep,
the monotony of your own repeated sighing in unlit streets.
And the scratch of the match repeats,
over and over,
... Read More...
Quoting Clay Shirky on “Cognitive Surplus”
And not for the first time.
The range of hospitality options is bewildering
I sit drinking the house wine.
An eighties soundtracks plays loudly ove... Read More...
The morning is a lace lesson, breath winds
up and over the bone bobbin of the bank.
We tramp to the big house, our work done:
frost stitches a lawn, sticks stars on potholes
I can’t step on for ... Read More...