by Degna | Jun 19, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
THE BOOZE by now, the booze is you, you are the booze, mid-rant you stand up too fast, keel over, turn your ankle and I’m supposed to help you up. Oh! the heat and stench of you cursing the world, cursing me, you burst into tears, blurt, ‘I’m...
by Guest Blogger | May 9, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
A VISION FOR THE TOPOGRAPHICAL FUTURE OF EAST ANGLIA by Matt Haw In khaki raiment, the neo centurion patrols the levee. Jade North Sea lapping over the flood defences. Out in the glimmering, amphibious trawlers sift for bivalves. Below, the salt marsh goes on for...
by Michael Mackmin | Mar 4, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
Sanctuary by Kate White I’d like to be able to say this is an epiphany but it’s not. I want to press on home. I’m anointed by the light of the phone box, looking out on hard rain, the closed off-licence. It’s clean of cards and dry enough...
by Michael Mackmin | Mar 4, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
Julie’s boat is in the field behind my house by Judith Willson A gale’s punched the sheets on the line all day, now they’re fighting out of my arms to get back to the brawl and there’s Julie’s boat on the crest of the field...
by Guest Blogger | Feb 12, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
An undesirable garden by Janet Rogerson The cement mixer is here, one hand on its head, the other on its tummy. Our gardening books are thumbed grey. We mither over colours, the shape of petals, he insists upon a bed of brown tulips, stone-bells in the shade garden...
by Michael Mackmin | Jan 12, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
The Seagull now eating my sandwich by Emily Wills computes a multimap of all the local take-outs behind his brassy glare. Bird-brained, above us all, he sat-navs through south-westerlies, tunnels low cloud, champions right of way over starling and rook. Inland, he...
by Guest Blogger | Jan 4, 2016 | Poems in The Rialto
Quiet road home by Dean Parkin We haven’t spoken for miles and I nearly let it past but I want to go back, so turn around in a sudden side road, a quick shift that squeals wheels, try to explain, I need to show you. You’re unsure what’s been said,...
by Michael Mackmin | Nov 4, 2015 | Poems in The Rialto
What you left out by Laura Scott The first time I heard it, its notes went through me like milk through water, clouding into my bones so I knew the end before it had even begun. I sat and listened as you told me the story of the old man and his three daughters, how...
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