

Cream in your evening chai
Lollipop, candy, gold, a quick sugar rush, The strands of our hair to be properly brushed Cover, conceal, hide behind our culture and ‘tahzeeb’,Shy, pretty, attractive but also not easy to concede And yet not too confident to be able to breach,The kind of vibe they approve of has to not have ‘excess’ self esteem These rules and traditions that you set in your little cobblestone,Premeditated … Continue reading Cream in your evening chai

Edition 13
Edition 13: Welcoming the new term with a Celebration of Poetry Continue reading Edition 13

Caladenia Macca
By Libby Hart Continue reading Caladenia Macca
Remembrance
By Lewis Dobbs Continue reading Remembrance

Untitled
By Niki Tse Continue reading Untitled

Edition 12
Autumn-winter publication. 2020. Continue reading Edition 12

Juice Pulp
There’s a bitter taste in my mouth, weighing heavy on my tonguelike my heart against my ribs,like the kind that is swiped from lips after drinking juice,thick in the morning as it swirls in the glass, pulp falling to the bottom, in its sodden state. The taste of juice in the morning,when your mouth is unclean, and your mind is buzzing, all I hear is … Continue reading Juice Pulp

Where does it take you?
I won’t be found on Broomfield Road, racing through the car park bay.Nor pacing over distant hills,my Darling, I’m a world away. Though onlookers count her present, blind of what’s inside,something in your beady mindbore witness to a change in mine. You see straight through my translucent skin, stretched on its chiselled frame;a window through which tendons, tense,plea to ping ’til the pain’s gone lame. … Continue reading Where does it take you?

Carrion
Strangest thing, it was, the strangest thing. Wouldn’t have believed it if I’d heard it from somebody else but, ah, there you go, that’s the way things happen, sometimes, innit? I was on clean up. Some old biddy-some posh old biddy, she’d come down with the Cough. Her relatives had all been taken care of, course. I don’t imagine it was too pleasant for them. … Continue reading Carrion

The Intruder
I couldn’t quite make out who it was through the rain-drenched window, but someone was talking to mum. A man, I thought, noting the deep, disparate tone that reverberated through the thin walls of the conservatory. Though I was surprised and, being worn down by the long, monotonous summer, strangely intrigued by this, I remained lying in the leather sofa, hunkered down as if drowning … Continue reading The Intruder