Jack Little

you, God on hardsoil, insatiable Icarus…

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Man Ironing

Anne Rouse

Sunday night, you pick up an iron in a cold room.

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Where The Dead

Marion McCready

Cloud-shadows darken the windows. /            In an upstairs room I watch the city glide by.

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Sammi Gale

I am the boat with a stomach full of rain,/ and I am faceless even when the moon/ peers in…

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Maggie Mucklebackit

Andrew McCallum

The clock repeats its parable as Maggie talks./ The seconds tick and fall, tick and fall,/ like waves lapping without a sound.

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Niall Campbell

I add to this the dark bloom of a life// discovered, pursed and fat, beside the slope./ How I wish I’d cut it from the branch

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Difficult Laughter

Olivia McCannon

Is what there is between a funeral and The Awful Truth

The bit where the dog….? Where Cary Grant….?

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Jaap Blonk & Sound Poetry

Delaina Haslam

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The Wild Thing Is Always Near

Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné

…There is a lit fuse
in your daughter’s mouth,
her brownish body a bomb…

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A Medicine of Moments

Janette Ayachi

I am the perverted picture viewer

tuned in and turned on

to the aesthetic beauty of visuals

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Fire, Somewhere

Theresa Muñoz

smoke/ rises/ in the south//thick plumes/ float

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Ice Yaqoub

Nigel Holt

“…The wax extends across the afternoon;/ every follicle exhumed and exiled;/ each inch of skin exfoliated. Soon,/ she will be ready: brows plucked; nails filed…”

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Richie McCaffrey

They often took people from these shores,/ pariahs of the law or kirk. Sent them down/ into the holds of ships with flint as ballast,/ mined locally as plentiful useless weight….

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Poe in Love

Howie Good

1 A man jammed fistfuls of earth into his mouth. And why not when nations sell/ weapons to their enemies?

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Becoming – A Triptych in Reds

Michael Kearns

I scoured the thrift shops/ Looking for the perfect sport coat/ Maybe checkered black and white/ Or jazzy plaid of multi-colors…

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Alice Willington

We are still talking by the frozen field./ You tell me about your children,/ I tell you the path to the sky wood….

The naked women lie back & repose

Emily Wolahan

Under the table, vainglorious, subterrained, festooned,//you huddle and cry// mon semblable, ô mon frère!…


Hello I Am Cambodia

Michael Pedersen

I step backwards into it,/ a paradigm of time/ and space: stacked, propped…

The Olive Branch

Ross Macgregor

I send you a postcard, you send me a postcard,/ From some exotic place./ But there are no more exotic places. No more remaining exotic places….

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Writer? Right… Er?

Michael Ormond

The finest poem I have ever read goes like this:

Olive Oil
French bread
Green Veg
Chicken bisto
I love you
Even though
You are a
Cunt head

This brilliant poem was written by my wife following one of the small flare-ups that real life relationships are made of. Structurally it satisfies me. Ten lines seems like a nice length and it is half the number of words which is pleasingly symmetrical. Each line is about the same length which gives it balance. It is not quite Haiku, not quite shopping list, not really anything, but nonetheless magnificent.

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Chris Powici

Interview by Andrew F. Giles

When it comes to the after-life
I’ll settle for the Calmac terminal
on a spit of Hebridean rock
after the ferry has sailed.
A lobster boat tugs at its rope
and beyond the pier a gannet rises
from the low swell into the cold cradling waves
and quick air…

The award winning poet and writer talks exclusively to NLP about the his craft and the inspiration he finds in the natural world. The interview includes three of Powici’s poems. His latest collection Somehow This Earth is published by Diehard Books.

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New Poetry

Alice Willington

The child holds the strings,


long lickedysplit lines that jerk

and loosen as he turns his wrists.

The wind is made from resin and horsehair,

the buffet of canvas swoops and soars

in the quiver of catgut…

NLP is delighted to publish a small collection of new poetry from award winning poet Alice Willington Continue reading…

POE-NERO: Leopoldo María, Gothic tyrant

Andrew F. Giles

The enemy is Man

and I am

the shepherd of shit

only Lord of nothing

King of the wind

the page on which the dog barks

Andrew Faraday Giles introduces us to the extraordinary world of Spanish poet Leopoldo María Panero, luminescent figure of La Movida Madrileña, inmate of multiple asylums, writer of  remarkable poetry. Continue reading…


Letters Unsent

Zoe Green

You broke the picture of the lovers when

You turned away last night. Heave of mattress –

Glass and slashed photograph through the gap

Between bed and wall….

Zoe Green explores the complications and conflicts of love, betrayal and loss in her powerful new collection, Letters Unsent.Continue reading…

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