Tooth telling

Tongue stuttering against front row
of teeth,
for that perfect ‘th’ sound,
never quite mastered.

That was the sound of bedtime,
gently unravelling inside the warmth
of my Mother’s throat as she
spun her accented adventures

Her stories had no ‘thieves’ in them,
they had ‘teeves.’
For years my mind was occupied with
images of giant marauding teeth.
A five-tooth band.

The Incisors,
one half of giddy quadruplets,
champing on
victims with glee
catching the light
like monolithic paving slabs.

Canine, the
dangerous one
with a pointed, surly face
and a penchant for sharp objects
hiding inside his enamel trench coat.

Then Molars,
stout, hardy and yellowed
by vast experience.
Muscled bodyguards at the back.

By Jessica Syposz



We live in an age of instant communication,
Ranting at the world, now we’re all one nation.
The dream of many, from leader to charity.
Look at me, look at me, look at me!

Global: mobile insanity.
Global: lack of morality.
Global: Personality.
Global: Singularity.

Sharing, texting, tweeting, caring?
Shocking, sexting, beating, blocking.
Snapchat, Facebook, Tumblr, blogs;
Not the content we were thinking of.

The world-wide-web spreads information:
A poison-spider of sex-discrimination.
Anonymity is safety, Trolling is the norm.
Rape culture is ingrained, the encouraged form.
Selfies, gifs, and sexed-up poutings;
Half-naked poses for Bacchanalian outings.

Forums decry fascism, support freedom:
Freedom to conform, freedom to preach.
Influence by bludgeoning, locking in the fetters.
No discussion here, just capital letters:

Weapons wielded, the bigger the better.
Legitimising hatred under titles of “Free Speech”.
There’s never any sharing to show or learn, or teach.

Liberal fascists scream incoherent hate:
Who would dare to speak out, just like them?
To be heard, just like them?
To be, just like them?
How dare they?

By William Taylor


Developing Country

We all crave stability
Some never
Get it.
Acid thrown at innocent faces
By angry extremists.
That’s the extent of excitement
But not the kind they searched for.
Sometimes it’s easier
To stay home.

By Laura Simmons

Always Keep a Spare Key

A woman once told me that
the mind is a house and that
she only knew that she existed
because she had the door key.

A man once told me how he had
fish trapped in his head. He heard
splashing water through his skull
smelt the salt water on their scales
but he could never touch them.

There is a tramp with a world in his head.
He sits outside Tesco and holds his regal staff.
People bow their heads as they pass.

There is a girl who is beautiful in her head:
sucking up nicotine and coughing up phlegm,
she dances out of time and holds herself
in a room where the walls keep spinning.

A woman told me that the mind is a house
days before the ceiling fell down on her.
I read her diary and saw how her
house had many rooms with
no corridors to connect them.

One day the diary was burned
and I lost the key forever.

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.