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26. Featuring Tamara Fulcher


like a dog or a diva you

do not like to be ignored

(my man princess, little


in my heels, my bra

around your neck

and my hairbands

round your hands;


your eyes glee with seeing

life from the inside


twice your size the size

of a world;)


and this the world is yours and my

eyes by you turned satellite



Tamara Fulcher

Mantid Chewing Greenbottle


How She Knew That She Existed;

How He Knew That He Had End:

A Scene Depicted in Primitive Media.

(the frame, the conceit,

the thrumming of fingers

on the hide of a drum)


she marks her feet still,

raises her slender arms

in thanks –


beautiful moment of pause –


and so is she into him:

her mouth into its work


her mute rhythm

the work of deconstruction

beginning in the soft red place

behind his eyes


(if he cries

his tears have no route to exit,

it now being severed;  

if he screams

his mouth does not move,

it now being taken;

if – and anyway

his nature is to be unheard)


Tamara Fulcher



                       Noon Rest From Work


            you reap

ripe fields

     blade’s beard

splits brittle wheat

         black pocks mark

      crows  that sow

                         billhooks in lapis

          noon peels oil

                         from canvas

                               she stretches

                    folds her head on

       cambric arms

      walk to her

through bristling

           umber brushstrokes

         slip your feet

               from damp boots

                lay sickle on

            sickle clasped

              close as a swift’s

            curved wings


                                 Kate Horsley





I had the same dream again. And

Again in my dreams it was flowing

Like scary scenes once whispered

And faded out in Bulgakov’s novelette.

Lying over that cold polygonal steel table

Strapped and my soul was anaesthetized.

I could still see, -move  my fingers yet

Nomore the blood was flowing inside my

Heart. They removed my nous and balls

But placed a dead dog’s instead before

Stabbing the sky. They made a tree from me.

A broken spoiled birch. Grey and confused.

With a mutant heart, canine instinct and

At last a morphed lowlife, truly made of wood.


Sutirtha Roy


Mocking the Burning Giraffe


Last time I belled the cat three months back. Perhaps since then I completely lost my vision. Really can’t see anymore. My mug is still pouring and I really tried way too hard.Hence my neighbour again objected thrice on the eve of Easter Sunday for crying so loud. He weighed nearly 322 pounds [recently on diet], and has now moved to the Far East for living. I heard that he bought a brand new house, which has been twice painted in white – as far I guess. He never loved my beautiful young ox or old chubby wife. Unfortunately his fiancée was a police. The lady cop tolerated me weeing in the shrine for so long but just exploded when I had started praying at last. She had never been a doubting Thomas. I could barely hide my swarthy butt from then on. The sceptical high priest strongly believed that I am a Jim crow [or a gay] so must be cremated before my death. The mob were already convinced about it long ago. They were actually cynical about my gender and odd orange bloomers [truly I didn’t wear any] as it was really smelling a like rat. Finally the truce was made. They all promised to send me to the loony bin if I try to cough even once more. No surprise that Rudolph [our pet reindeer] now has a blue nose, who modestly told me: I am sure Saint Nicholas never existed – No one saw him ever. Poor fellow! I trusted him. Then we crashed the coloured eggs. He wished a toast for good health. I honestly loved the deep-dish pie although I badly needed a glass of water. And most interestingly the cobbler – next door, asked me to change my laptop right now or if I could flog my iphone instead. But he didn’t notice my shoes. Those were antique indeed. I swear a genuine Salvatore Ferragamo. None of them could spell!


Sutirtha Roy


A one week course



Day One:    

Find the tide

and swim against it,


Do not look over your shoulder


Day Two:   

Find a received opinion

and refuse to agree,


do not be embarassed


Day Three:  

Find a dress code

and on no account wear it,


do not look in shop windows


Day Four:   

Find what is held to be common sense

and question its truth,


do not be swayed


Day Five:    

Find the field that others cultivate

and plough your own furrow,


do not deviate


Day Six:      

Find the grey areas

and colour them in,


do not leave spaces


Day Seven:

Find out the latest jokes

and refuse to find them funny,


do not forget to have the last laugh


Nigel Hutchinson