John McCullough

  XANTHIC   Some months all my thoughts are one colour. I hit a yellow mood and the world pours out its yolks: tall stacks of...
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Alice Oswald’s Falling Awake | Friday Pick

Oswald writes poetry that combines a fascination with traditions of the distant past with a genuine interest in digging beneath the surface of all things to find layers that beg to be translated into words.

Tania Hershman

I want to be the only / surgeon in the world / who knows how / to cut you open, stitch / you up.

Katrina Naomi

titless as she is, the female is there / no matter what’s been taken from her

Jamie Osborn

Will you be rich? / What does greedy mean? / Does Sir know Midas, where is he from? What is the goat’s name? / Where does the river go?

John McCullough

And so I find myself stuck in the wrong century / like Peale, probing swampland for bones, / reassembling skeletons and stepping inside.

Richie McCaffery

What’s the first thing you do / in a house you suspect haunted? / You sing.

Luke Kennard

Now language is a prison, / true communication is impossible, / our deepest desires remain eternally frustrated. // We are the flies nutting the closed window / next to the open window.

Bobby Parker

I tell cats on the street, 'Hey kitty, she swallowed my cum!' / I told the shy Indian woman in the corner shop, 'Do not be afraid, / for she swallowed my cum!' I even told my mum...

Sean O’Brien

Let it be sparrows, then, / Still dancing in the blazing hedge, // Their tender fury and their fall, / Because it snows, because it burns.

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