Tag: Cyphers
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“Passing through” and other poems by Betty Thompson
Balloons A stream of them – long and ribboning before they were inflated; breath-filled they turned into globes and cylinders: fat demi-lunes ably shaped by the long-fingered magician who, in his downtime offstage from the Hippodrome, relaxing by the fire, legs stretched across the hearth, would plunge those long hands into his pockets, to pull […]
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Grafted: Referendum 2018 and other poems by Ann Leahy
Making for Open Today she is learning to walk again. One month after a minor fall, my mother heaves and plants each foot in turn, toes dragging the hardwood floor. Her eyes are fixed ahead as far as they can go beyond her new walking frame, which she grips and shoves, elbows unbent, as if […]
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“A Life Unanswered” and other poems by Susan Kelly
The Bittersweet Her passion was historical biscuit tins or so he’d tell visitors who marvelled at the growing stacks of embossed lids that glinting with landscapes, landmarks locations she hadn’t seen, he thought it best if the world came to her. He liked her to display these gifts he brought back from places he visited […]
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“Sundowner” and other poems by Clare McCotter
The House The regularly-occurring representation of the human form as a whole is that of the house ~ Sigmund Freud This is my house my place my home first one I ever owned leave now you dirty scum she screams at auxiliaries gripping wrists and raging elbows washing face and neck and shoulders. This is […]
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‘Prime’ and other poems by Peggie Gallagher
Parlour A bolthole, a room half elsewhere adrift in distant grandeur, where breath condenses between damask drapes and the wing of a mahogany table. Where an ear might catch the scratch of a pen, a girl trawling the depths of an inkwell pouring words, slippery as a river of fish spilling loose of their […]
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“Tea with Akhmatova’s Cat” and other poems by John Sexton
Tea with Akhmatova’s Cat I’m having tea with Akhmatova’s cat who purrs in English passable enough that half-wit mice can follow what she’s at. She speaks in metres forcible but flat: a mix of Milton, Keats, hairballs and fluff. I’m having tea with Akhmatova’s cat. Quite bored, I count the fibres on […]