constellate
by Tom Branfoot
windows condensated with crowded
bodies between what sky is cleare
i constitute a new constellation
projected in wynter nyght
tusks glent strung with silk
each eye fisted through cloudcover
revealynge the hereafter bristlynge
with astigmatic coruscation
you can feel the yvel toniht beneath
moonlyght’s moist & corrugated stryfe
beneath the blysful snaht i gaze out
dark arvum flankynge the road
its porcine glyph i etch
into the rattlynge chiaroscuro
agitated by globules of past & present
passengers meet me by the oak
of your hooves ryghten this rule
i fear for carnage cloven countries
To Ann Lang,
South Tawton, 1737
by Julie Sampson
How could you know,
new wife’s gay trip
beneath the bridal arch’s
foliage showers –
your rhapsody
an
ode
dripping
from the carved men’s lips?
Bathed –
in its veil-
green-light
how could you have seen
the trompe d’oeil?
Chameleons,
these
hares
chase
you,
twist a
trio
of centuries.
Your great granddaughter x six
gazes up through the arch
where once
your gleaming ring slipping on,
choir rifts nuptial’s ancient canon.
Outside, standing at the lych-gate, in this raw twenty-first century winter light,
she’d like, like hares, to spin the merry-go round, turning the corner of the corner of time.
Family Dinner
by Elizabeth Chadwick Pywell
My two dead grandfathers have come for dinner.
I’ve baked sourdough; nobody’s impressed.
They look stern across the stilton,
pour wine with turn-taking chivalry,
proffer stalks of celery to salt. I consider
when might be the right time to open up
my heart for review.
I am about
to launch some kind of over-share
starting with I don’t know if you know this about me,
but Graham says shhhhhhh merch. He holds up
an index finger, John holds up an index finger,
they touch above the tealight & I pass underneath
that steeple, hold my breath for grace.
St. Vitus’ Dance
by Tom Bennett
His son too
was thirt-
een when he
showed him
Brueghel’s Procession
to Calvary,
said when I dis-
appear it’ll be hard
to find me,
meant see me,
Love, in mania of
tumbrels, graceless steps.
They’d serve him
once only atop
that rig’s blasted apse
to egress in
a dark day’s jig
with seven angels
of resin & pitch we
from shriving bult
will never glimpse.
Tom Branfoot is the writer-in-residence at Manchester Cathedral and a recipient of the New Poets Prize 2022. He organises the poetry reading series More Song in Bradford. This Is Not an Epiphany, Tom’s second pamphlet of poetry, is published by Smith|Doorstop.
Julie Sampson’s poetry is widely published, and she’s been placed in a variety of competitions. In 2009 she edited Mary Lady Chudleigh; Selected Poems (Shearsman, 2009). Her collections are: Tessitura (Shearsman, 2014); It Was When It Was When It Was (Dempsey and Windle, 2018) and Fivestones (Lapwing Publications, 2022). See www.juliesampson.com
Elizabeth Chadwick Pywell was awarded the Northern Writers’ Debut Award for Poetry and a place on the Out-Spoken Press Emerging Poets Development Scheme in 2022. Her pamphlet, ‘Breaking (Out)’ was published by Selcouth Station Press, and ‘Unknown’ by Stairwell Press. She has featured in journals including Fourteen Poems, New Welsh Review, Shearsman Magazine, Spelt Magazine, Strix, The Alchemy Spoon, Ink Sweat and Tears and Impossible Archetype, has longlisted for the Leeds Poetry Prize and Mslexia Women’s Poetry Competition, and shortlisted for the Ironbridge Festival Prize.
Tom Bennett is an English teacher living in London, originally from South Wales. His poems have appeared in Reed Magazine, Ink, Sweat and Tears and others. His short fiction has appeared in Litro and Pushing Out The Boat.