Mind Games, by Emma Purshouse

Mind Games

We played
imaginary Kerplunk.
He won.
Very quickly
it seemed
all of my marbles

Never one
to give up
I suggested
invisible Buckaroo.
But he said
it was getting late
couldn’t be bothered
with setting it all up.

Emma’s first novel Dogged is now available to buy from Ignite Books.  https://ignitebooks.co.uk/products-page/emma-purshouses-books/


Three Poems by Daniel Ryan

Haircuts and House Parties

Newscasters and politicians
looking dapper on the telly.

The neighbours in Flat 54
giving it welly.

Me on my tod
writing shit poetry.


The poet couldn’t find anything
to rhyme with Astra Zeneca,
so he watched the North London
Derby instead.

Should Gareth Bale Cut His Hair?

I don’t care.

Daniel Ryan has come out of poetic retirement, but when his poetry gets rejected, he’ll probably go back in.


Two Limericks from Mark Totterdell


I once had a pet anaconda,
Of which I could not have been fonder,
Though it caused some alarm
And significant harm
By its strong inclination to wander.


We take care with our pet stegosaurus,
Lest the spikes at its rear end should gore us,
As with one mighty flail
Of its big spiky tail
It could render us horribly porous.

Mark Totterdell’s poems have appeared widely in magazines and have occasionally won prizes. His collections are This Patter of Traces (Oversteps Books, 2014) and Mapping (Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2018).


Boring, by Carl Burkitt


10 minutes into wandering
through an M&S petrol station
I realised I’d forgotten my headphones

and the podcast I thought was boring
was in fact two middle aged men behind me
chatting about A roads.

Carl Burkitt likes to tell tales. He tells long tales, short tales, silly tales, sad tales and likes to tell them online, behind a mic, in books, in schools or on the sofa with his young family in London. Read more at www.carltellstales.com


4 By Bloody 4’s, by Lisa Lopresti

4 By Bloody 4’s

Huge SUV, 4 by bloody 4,
Parked right outside my front door.

In narrow Edwardian city streets,
Those 4 X 4’s like to retreat.

I can admire the metallic paint,
That the late evening sun warmly glints.

But there is no light streaming through,
My tall beckoning windows as it ought to do!

The pollution that these vehicles exhale,
Dust’s lungs and glass in dirty veils.

My city is not 4 X 4’s natural habitat,
Country lanes and tracks is where that’s at.

But what about the snow!
4 by four drivers want to know.

Well in our cities, those 2 days a year,
Mean you should stay at home and drink beer.

Lisa Lopresti (she/her)is a poet from the statue toppling City of Bristol. She has been broadcast on BBC Radio Bristol and published in magazines and anthologies. Lisa performs in spoken word events and has found this both terrifying and exhilarating. She likes to convey poems to portray, this life.


Humpback, by Ross Maclean-Bryant

A disgruntled humpback emerged from the shiny briny.
Spitting furious rainbows atop the disco ball granite
And levelling a settlement of sandcastles.

He asked if we could keep it down.
Although the tone suggested that it wasn’t a question.
Tensions as high as the tide.

A slender majority were politely obliging.
The resulting memorabilia was mediocre at best.