Pride by Susan Evans

I wonder if the Welsh Literati might appreciate another `Ode to
Dylan Thomas’?  Knock it out of the park with a raging Villanelle: homage,
complete with Welsh translation notes (*lifted from Wikipedia).
Shoehorn in a traditional recipe, using leeks, with a contemporary twist;
a topping of Caerphilly crisps, inspired by Come Dine with Me. Or maybe
something cheesier…? No, I know; I’ll pen a celebrity feast of Saint David
with stars from stage and screen: Dame Shirley Bassey, Sir Anthony Hopkins,
Sir Tom Jones, Aled Jones, Catherine Zeta Jones, Ruth Jones, Rob Brydon
and Michael Sheen; dine in a great castle, adorned with golden daffodils
and a red dragon theme. For entertainment, they get down and dirty,
in a friendly game of rugby, for charity… Seriously, what about the
Richard Burton Diaries…? Or miner reality: a brief review of indie film,
Pride ‒ set in the mid 1980s; two tribes go to war for the common good:
Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. A true story ‒ “Pits and Perverts”
read a tabloid headline. Unsupported, undeterred; activists, together,
sorting battles, over falafels, singing Bread and Roses; making history as
individuals & communities. I cried with pride: a story of hope & solidarity.

Susan Evans Performance Poet Photo by Andrew King 2015

Susan Evans is a Brighton-based Performance poet; originally from north east London. Susan performs regularly, as a featured guest on the alternative poetry & cabaret circuit, throughout the UK. Straddling stage & page, Susan is widely published; in print & online ~ besides Your One Phone Call, most recent & upcoming, publication features include: Amaryllis, Angry Manifesto, the High Window, Message in a Bottle, Obsessed With Pipework, Snakeskin & Turbulence. Also recently anthologised in Spotlights (Paragram Press) You can find her here:

Blue Orange Evening by Howie Good

The elderly lady posing with an exuberant cactus said she could hear the snatches of doo-wop running through my head. I nodded as if I believed her. Meanwhile, the young parents were working frantically to collect the baby teeth scattered up and down the street. I watched with something like pity, but kept my hands hidden behind my back, well aware that once upon a time I might have felt the urge to help. It was a beautiful evening nonetheless, a kingdom of blue shadows and orange-tinted smoke, where gray buildings collapsed with a sigh and then slowly rebuilt themselves, only to collapse again.

Howie Good

Howie Good is the recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection “Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements”.

Hospice by Chris Stewart

She watched him expire by the fading lymph-light
And knew good riddance was the appropriate sentiment except
She’d read him the books crescented in the penumbra of his node-lamp
And felt a lump unlike the one in his throat rise.

“You’re a lovely lady,” he’d say.  “You remind me of…”

“That’s what you said to Tracey last shift,” she’d say,
“And we bear no resemblance.”

She logged his death and grouped the personal items in a pile.
There would be no claimants.
A tourist book on Rhodesia and Egypt she used to read aloud.

“To be sure, you’re both fine specimens of woman,” he’d say.
If only he were a decade or so younger…

She lay in the folds where the cancer had made its advances,
The raided tomb of Rameses, empty and migrained
With fluorescent fingermarks.

His body lay like a swastika foetus of labial folds.
A few sweat patches, an unremarkable Turin Shroud.
She unmade him as if unfolding an origami swan.

His case notes were closed.  A repeat offender,
Despite impotence he still exposed himself.

“Just give me ten more years and I could’ve shown you
“What I could do.”

Now his belongings are rejected even by the hospice bookshop.
“Ancient history,” remarked the volunteer.
“No call for inaccurate tour guides.”

Chris Stewart one phone - Copy

Chris Stewart was longlisted for the CYCLOP International Videopoetry Contest 2015. He is winner of the 2015 Read Our Lips filmpoem competition. He is an Apples and Snakes ‘Public Address’ alumnus. He is anthologised in ‘Break-Out: A Calling Card From the Rising Stars of the Teesside Scene’ (Ek Zuban, 2013). You can tweet him @SideBurnedPoet. You can find his filmpoems here:

Memory by Mark A. Murphy

We stop to think of you in the failing light,
your radio silence is complete.

It’s the end of August, but Autumn’s chill
is already foreboding.

Still, the garret is a good place to hide
one’s shame at love’s rebuttal.

As we look out over the chimney pots,
roof slates and aerials

of our post-industrial town, the light fading
exponentially, as if allowing

for failure in our lives, we will conjure
summer’s fruit picnic

on the mezzanine floor, before and after
the radio waves fell silent.

Mark A. Murphy

Mark A. Murphy’s first full length collection, Night-watch Man & Muse was published in 2013 by Salmon Poetry, Eire.


Y Daith by Gareth Writer-Davies

about the estuaries
we rattle along the line

last winter
the bridge came down

and horsepower
was the A to Y

we can’t keep our eyes open

as the landscape yields
to the iron rail

station to station

the rusty nail
holding sleepers

by the sound

taking us over water
the old way

our long journey home

Gareth Writer-Davies - Copy

Gareth Writer-Davies was Commended in the Prole Laureate Competition in 2015, Specially Commended in the Welsh Poetry Competition and Highly Commended in the Sherborne Open Poetry Competition. Shortlisted for the Bridport Prize and the Erbacce Prize in 2014, Highly Commended, Geoff Stevens Memorial Prize in 2013 and 2012. His pamphlet “Bodies”, was published in 2015 through Indigo Dreams.

Poem 187 by PT Davidson

I really used to
really like watching
Starsky and Hutch

on tv when I was
a kid. People used
to say I looked a

little bit like Starsky,
although his nose
was much bigger

than mine. Who
could forget Starsky’s
bright-red two-door

Ford Gran Torino
with white vector
stripes, nicknamed

the Striped Tomato by
Hutch. I always
wanted one of those

cars. I also always
wanted one of
those over-sized

black and white
cardigans that
Starsky always wore.

Mouse and Galv from
my school each had one.
They were so cool.

I also used to really
like watching The  Six
Million Dollar Man.

Steve Austin, astronaut.
A man barely alive.
We can rebuild him.
We have the technology.
We can make him
better than he was.
Better, stronger, faster.

He was the ultimate.
I used to be really
good at making that

‘do do do do do do
do do do do do do’
sound that came on

when he activated his
bionic eye. I still am quite
good at doing it actually.

‘do do do do do do
do do do do do do’

PT Davidson

PT Davidson is originally from New Zealand, although he has spent the past 24 years livingabroad in Japan, the UK, Turkey and the UAE. His poetry has appeared in al dente, ulcer, Pre-Text, Otoliths and BlazeVOX, and he some poems appearing shortly in After the Pause, Clockwise Cat and Futures Trading.

A Ten Question Interview With The Artist… Clare Ferguson-Walker

Why do you write?

Because I’d go mad if I didn’t, stories and ideas build up and need releasing! It’s also a way of communicating with my own subconscious.

What books do you read?

I love graphic novels, I just re read the whole sandman series by Neil Gaiman. Novel wise there is no particular genre that I stick to, but I am rather partial to sci fi, big Philip K Dick fan.

What inspires you?

My kids, amazing art, polished performances. The perfection of symmetry found in nature. People who make me laugh. Seeing injustice inspires me to focus anger.

How did you know you wanted to be a writer and when?

I’ve written since early childhood, poetry was a constant companion. And I loved writing fictional short stories. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t written.

How do you deal with rejection?

You have to become a little arrogant and think “your loss” obviously no one likes a big egoist but there are times when it can be helpful!

Who are some writers you admire?

Kurt Vonnegut, Mary Shelley, Emily Dickinson, Neil Gaiman, John Irving, Philip K Dick, David Mitchell.

Is writing the only artistic medium you do?

No, I’m a singer songwriter, a sculptor and a painter.

What would be some advice you would give to your younger self?

Try not to worry about what you look like.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Don’t negatively compare yourself with other writers. Try and loose yourself in the story and turn the wifi off!!

What is your writing process?

I get out the house to write. I also love working on trains. With fiction, I tend to have a very loose idea of plot, it’s the characters that I try and flesh out first, that way they tell their own story. Poetry tends to flow easily once a concept has dawned, but I go back and tweak until I’m happy!!

Clare Ferguson-Walker - Copy

Clare lives in Wales with her husband and two kids. She won her fist international poetry competition aged 18. Her first collection of poetry was published 3 years ago. She started performing poetry 7 years ago and has toured all over the U.K and Ireland supporting Phill Jupitus and John Cooper Clarke and as a solo performer. She is working on her debut novel. Clare is also an internationally known sculptor.

Who Killed Cobain? by Brenton Booth

Over twenty
years after
his death
there are
still people
looking for
someone to
point the
when really
all we need
to do
is look
in the

Brenton Booth

Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. He has recently been printed in Chiron Review, Mas Tequila Review, Bold Monkey, Red Fez and Paper and Ink.

Listening To Your Shit Is Almost Hypnotic, You Snakey Cunt! by Paul Tristram

It’s like he really can’t help himself
and I’m not making excuses up for him.
But I actually think he’s a bit touched
because seriously you can’t be that stupid?
He just won’t shut his lying mouth,
one line of bullshit after the other.
I watched him getting punched
smack, bang in the face one day
in the beer garden of The Royal Albert.
He just stood back up-a little wobbly-
and carried on exactly where he’d left off.
The 2nd punch and he did the same
except now he was bleeding a bit.
The 3rd and he burst out crying like a baby,
turned around and walked away
but still yabbering away to himself.
You can’t let him overhear anything,
there’s a lot of talk going ‘round about him
and snitches don’t just get stitches here.
They’ll find the cunt hanging one day
and I bet you it’ll look like suicide and all.

Scribblings Of A Madman

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!


Approaching The Anniversary by John Sweet

would you have gone
back again if you knew?

would you have visited every day
just to postpone his death?

called off the marriage?

there was another girl
maybe the only one you ever loved
or maybe this is just what you
want to believe

doesn’t matter now

you say good-bye and drive home
and think nothing of it and
two weeks later the phone rings

two days after that
the plug is pulled

should i keep going?


john sweet, b. 1968, opposed to all ideologies, political parties, organized religion and reality tv. votes the surrealist ticket whenever possible. latest collections include THE CENTURY OF DREAMING MONSTERS (2014 Lummox Press) and the electronic chapbook A NATION OF ASSHOLES W/ GUNS (2015 Scars Publications).