I have to say I’ve never been
more content to settle
for nothing because you’re offering me everything
I couldn’t hope to need
and lowered voices bless
and infiltrate my burning ears.
Your song sings out
and makes me sink beneath
the anticipation of love and loss
and love again.

From a mover and shaker,
movie maker
higher power up above.

I send you hope and back again
which bounces off your
concrete boundaries and I see those words and see them
until your blindness kicks in
and I lose the will
and the clear air fills
with the silence
of those words unspoken
by those awoken
but not to us.

By Monty Stagton


I find it an annoyance,
When a Poem doesn’t rhyme,
When the lines refuse to flow,
And the last one just will not scan!

By Barney Taylor


Into Chaos

It is Monday morning and I am walking
On my way to the office, on the way to work
But I’ve just remembered the bitchy receptionist
Is on duty on Mondays six seconds ago
So I switch the day to Tuesday. The old man
Who usually greets me on the Mondays when he gets up
Is gone, snoring in his flea-ridden bed. The time

Is eight forty and I am not going to make it
So I push the time back to eight thirty. The pub owner
Who sweeps out his trash is still inside, swearing
At his wife, and she is swearing back; a click of my fingers
And the house is on fire, people are screaming and making way
For the modern Moses, yes that is me

And there is a pretty girl walking up to me, smiling. I feel
You turn in your grave five seconds ago but don’t worry
I have a plan. I stop and touch her, pushing my fingers
Through her breast and into her heart, I take her face
Two seconds ago like a canvas
And paint you on her; I reach up and clench
Down on your brain, and you laugh. It is you.
I laugh, too. The pavement is crooked so I smile and it fixes.
Your knickers are showing; I sweep my hand and the wind
Picks up, and suddenly every man on the street wants to be me.
Better. Good, I’ll be on time today.

I am at the graveyard. I am the owner of the company
So I’m taking time off to see you again. The flowers
At the head of your tombstone are not impressive enough
So I wish them better and they become beautiful.
With a beckoning finger you rise and I put sweet flesh
Back on your bones, your memories fly back into place
Like parts to a magnetic machine and we embrace. Yes,
I am God. This is power, a second ago

And these tears of yours, raining upward?
The grass wilting, growing back to dirt
And the concrete sprouting out like weeds amongst the green?
This is me, this is chaos, this is the chaos
We will live in, this is
The love I will love you in, now.

By Joshua Teo



I hate you, pointless insomnia.
My head is spinning
godforsaken hours of endless
stickiness. I’m lying in pools of frustration.
The burning need
to sleep absorbing
the nauseousness replacing dry mouth syndrome.
No traffic to smother me in coolness
and no cold fingers lacing down me, no shivering
I’m quivering under the burden of fears I am yet to understand
and I hate you.

We take ourselves to creaking wheels
and travel from sickening light and stagnant air
into the darkness lit up
with pinpricks of dust
the virgin roads of early morning
we move through lorry-land
where the truckers play
soaking in the calm
the sepia soaked day.

Sleeping towns wait for her
where dormice nestle under floorboards.
Ready for attacks made by criminal cats
in deepest sleep
she sits, works up through the night
to earn far more than looking pretty
enough to get to lorry-land
cruising through an ancient city

To the beat of a satnav system
they glisten with their mission
anonymous giants who take their rest
in a lay by. Because there was no room
at Premier Inn for 20 tonnes of
aluminium, fibreglass, steel still
obliged to clock tedious minutes
away from clutch and wheel.

The roads of early morning dance
we move through lorry-land
The sunlight streaks
where the truckers play
soaking in the calm
of the sepia soaked day.

By Georgie Tindale


Each week The Student Review publishes a collection of poems about a particular topic or theme. For this week’s theme, or to submit a poem, go here.