Chubby fists convulsing, squeeze
His small kingdom was born.
On careless soil burst
pockets of liquorice sludge
As he noted the
with which ants dissolve under
He felt like God in dungarees.
By Jessica Syposz
Just for Kicks
She slips on her best heels which make her
Look five inches taller
She glares in the mirror
Posing and pouting
Dark lips pushed out
Heavy eye shadow slapped on
She steps back
Examining the curved shape of the stiletto
Slim-lined like her body
Smooth like her voice
A perfect seductress
She reels them in, one every night
Wait for the surge of screams
From the man with stiletto shaped dents in his skin
By Laura Simmons
Letters from 1604
A curious thing
That hands trapping the unearned
In the grips of thieves
May also grasp hilts of swords.
A curious thing;
The difference between children and men
May solely be wrinkles and whorls
On smooth and broken skin.
The heavens have made mistakes –
For of the orders of men, of hearts and skins,
There stands no difference in the eyes of the law.
A curious thing
For boys legs and heads arm-spans apart
To feel the first time how it feels to fall –
Your quest be however noble –
But those who grasp what is unearned
To feel for the first time how it feels to fall
May yet feel callused cord
Or arced whips smiling
Upon their skin, my son.
You may yet see the invisible
In boys striving to fall.
There is not an ephemeral rose may say
There is naught wrong with the world.
My skin is leather,
My hard heart a castle of limestone.
Guf is empty. I have no more sons to give
For you to bear.
Emboss an enamel stone for me;
Crown me in leaves and dried refuse.
Tell me I leave to make right
With powder bomb and blunderbuss
What wrongs they wrought with words.
My love, tell me I will shake the earth.
By Joshua Teo
Skeleton shadows cast darkness
over street-lamp light. Car headlights
illuminate a sobbing teenager
slumped down opposite a bus shelter.
She shelters in the breathless leaves.
The stars engulfed in a grey blue blanket.
Her body is cloaked by a school skirt and tie.
But he told her it would look cuter
on the floor. Scared and disregarded
she waits by the back alley.
Barely post pubescent
and already a slut.
By Georgie Tindale