Bad Faith


That year she was reading Sartre, 
We would sit in the cafe beside her university
And watch the waiters,
She’d make judgements on their core being
Saying their efficiency 
Was an articulation of bad faith.
"Yes but the service is excellent." I’d say.
Outside even the tramps looked employed,
Stripping the bins and coin slots 
With the swiftness of ...

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Also by Tom Harding:

Rites Of Spring |

The Line and Square

The foundations on which we built Empire

Are scarcely a secret to share

The offensive force of musketry fire

The defensive strength of the square.


The advantages of the musketry line

Are best learned mathematically

And not from one hundred metres in front

As Frenchie would no doubt agree.


The French they attack you in column

Of maybe 10,000 or mor...

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Also by John Coopey:

Dead Men's Shoes | Cradle - A Triolet | Breakfast of Champions | Wrong Road Roun' - An Urban Villanelle | Night Mail | Doing It Twice | Charente-Maritime | Senior | It's Not 5-0 is it Now, Merv? | Haircut | Ah Yes, I Remember it Well |


So I'll tell you something that happened. It was a couple of years ago and it was early in the morning. I woke up quickly in a sweat. I was dreaming about PILLOWS. Rows and rows of PILLOWS. All lined up in a park at night. There was somebody else there but I can't recall who they were or if they were friendly or not. So the PILLOWS looked at me with tiny cotton eyes and enough eyebrow material ...

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Also by Kealan Coady:

If I Wanted | Out At Sea | Reward | The Not Yet Chained. |

And a Voice

I am not designed for life

not fit for it

I’m merely not strong enough

a weak, hopeless

pathetic template


And this dark mood

this deathly visitor

is inside me now

all the way deep

gripping my skull

cutting my thoughts

making it hard enough

just trying to breathe


So I lay here

as lost as stone

a thing neither dead nor alive


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Also by David Mac:

The night comes |

The Day of Grief And Sorrow


The day of grief and sorrow was yesterday.

Another friend of ours had passed away.

It’s impossible to express in words how our hearts pain,

But we all swear, the memory about him will remain.

He was reliable and life he loved so passionately,

Up to the end he was faithful and friendly.

He was his family support and our coach

Without fear, without reproach.


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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

Rose lies on the piano keys..... | RZHEPICKS | You Could Call Me | Rzhepick | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | The Epiphany | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | Rzhepick | EYES | RZHEPICKS | RZHEPICKS | Your Love |


The cyanide swan

 The cyanide swan

Ugly duckling, beautiful swan
The gentle cover is now gone
And the evil side is the only one
Some would say she's a con

The mask is off
She's now tough
Some would say rough
Like she hasn't had any love

Maybe she couldn't stand the ridiculing anymore
And was fed up of life being a chore
Or the hatred that was emerging from her core
Was fighting t...

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Systemic Usury

Like the Romulain drill
used to create black
To suck all life
and create death
and destruction

So goes the
of world
And all
with them.
Like a giant
the banks feed
off of all humans
symptoms are
as follows


Abdominal pain Constipation Anemia Anorexia B-12 deficiency Rectal hemorrha...

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Eight Neglected Wonders of a Womb

The reality of an external life of perdition from the womb is purposefully impervious to the memory This is where gratefulness truly stems A postcard picture of a view of eight embryo's howling in indescribable pain is too much for some to observe Catapulted around like unwanted withered leaves from a tree that once sustained them Raked up by a life of constant negativity and despondenc...

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Apple Blossom Song

She went to gather apple blooms all in the month of May,

An eager child who dearly loved a warm and sunny day -

                    an eager child who dearly loved

                                     a warm and sunny day.

Quite unaware of noise and dust that thinly filled the air

She skipped along the gravel path without a thought or care -


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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

The moon weeps | Heat Wave | Would you care for tea? (for Elaine) |


Failed States

You begged and begged

and now you're ever in their debt -

they'll stretch a net the size of the IMF

to dress your nakedness; then you're fucked

with a corrupt infrastructure.


Your coping mechanisms will fracture,

a cheap contractor will copy and paste

your face into a pastiche simulacrum;

the tic and spasm you call culture

will not feature in the sculpt...

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Childhood Friendship

Along the pretty Pembrokeshire coast,

Under a sun that shone for ever,

We galloped over emerald cliffs.

Both holding imaginary reins,

Paula and I made spurring noises

To mounts that were supposed to be there.

Our families met while caravanning,

We decided to all tour together.

Big brothers enjoyed their own adventures.

A younger sister still napped af...

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Also by Lynn Dye:

I'm Sorry, I'm English |


A Craving for Writer's Block





I slaver with anticipation
as your taunts fly past
let me grapple you
while your fangs pierce
and vilest venom spreads

numb my soul and mind

let me scream and cringe
agonise upon this page
let blankness reign supreme
slay this potent pen
for all of eternity

make your emptiness pristine

hover around my carcass
you scavenging vultur...

Read more …

writers blockblockcrampwriters cramp

Poverty Is

You think poor is…

One car not two

semi, not detached

the right school

the wrong brand

the wrong label.


I think poor is…


thick enough to pick at

cardboard soles

in shoes with holes

and stains that don’t

wash clean.



we know poor is…

the curl of a lip

in a hostile world,

the shame

of not fittin...

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Also by Isobel:

La dee da dee da | Upon Disappearing | SPAM |




I always loved the elephant

The elephant in my room

We used to have such laughs and chats

I hope he comes back soon!


Each day was such a riot -

oh what would happen next!

but now it's gone all quiet

and I am really vexed.


For there has been spring cleaning

He had to go away

And now the house is boring

Cos he’s not here to play.



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Also by Ann Foxglove:

like paper | turtle haiku | books haiku | company | kiss haiku | ghazal - under grass | a little journey | sarah beaney | chocolate | dirty dog | I wonder | smoke and mirrors | ros/e | motherfuckinfox | A charm of goldfinches |



As regal as I get,
As vulnerable as I can be.
I push through tranquility
And into exhaustion.

Stuffed to bursting,
Eager to release.
I intrude onto the White 
And deliver my sacrifice. 

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Also by Steven Kenny:

Lullaby for Thermopylae |

just the way it is

Sometimes the biggest effort
can have little effect,
and you're left with
a constant reminder,
like a knife in the gut.

Sometimes the smallest effort
rewards the most,
an efficient deluge
almost brimming over,
bringing satisfaction.

Sometimes, you perch on the fence,
neither easy nor hard,
and the end result is
usually the same.

Sometimes, no matter how

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Also by Kath Hewitt:

Left turn | My childhood rainbow | What would you do? | untitled again | Fancy adding to this??? | Never alone | (untitled) |

Fun guy

I glance with head on pillow

As you respond to my recommendation

To ‘try dancing to release

The energy of your elation’

You’re on your knees cuz you can’t stand

You kneel and stick your arms out

Eyes roll back in your head

Mouth forms a poignant pout


You wiggle left and squiggle right

And shuffle over with all your might

I peer up at squid-like move...

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Under The Stairs





In a stony cold house, many years ago now
Lived a family as happy as fate would allow.
Though leaking the roof, with cracked window pane
And open to elements like wind and the rain.
No bolt on the door, no lock and no chain.
Nothing to steal , no nor nothing to gain.
The children were happy. They ran wild and free.
I remember it well, for the eldest was me.


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Bucket and Spade (Childhood)

I recall the rain

Crying into my dreams

No charabanc for me

No trip to the sea




The gusting wind scattered my broken heart

All ways like grains of sand

My bucket and spade


Hand in hand upon my bedroom floor

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Also by Gus Jonsson:

Raged a Wind | Wave Over Wave (To the memory of a very good friend of mine that I never met) |


Peak Oil Film Reviews

These are a couple of films I have recently seen on Peak Oil - check them out if you can.


The End of Suburbia (2004)

Directed by Gregory Greene

A chilling look at what seems to be the imminent demis of the American Dream, the movie examines the origins of modern suburbia and how that way of life, powered by cheap energy, is now threatened by the coming oil crash.

Central t...

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Also by Alain English:

The Sorry People | Gigs this Week! | January Featured Gigs | New Year and New Gigs! | Poetry of the Apocalypse |

Cling On

  The ideas of growing have turned old

forgetting stories once told

with characters who were once so bold

fiction left behind


We open our eyes to fact

loosing any sense of tact

our unwritten pact

ripped up in front of our eyes


We constantly disagree

questioning everything, never letting it be

replying with misjudged maybe's 

forgetting wha...

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Also by Josh Coates:

Some little pieces | Absent Friends |

Childhood Recollection

Dusk in Northumberland


I cannot throw away this faulty photograph

wonder if mother peeled off that oval sticker,

the one I remember:

Boots pronouncement of defects

on red eyes, on the ghosts of double exposures,

Now half forgotten


Framed by the stone walls scaling hills

I didn’t know that my great grandfather built or

the skill that made them stan...

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childhoodChildhood memories

As you sleep


I woke in the middle of the night

Slurred with illness cold tickling

My throat; my nose red raw. I saw

your body eloquent as a choir

corpse-still your bones were breathing

singing, the chorus chant sighing through you

orchestra woman. My favourite part:

the string section, its high toned rend

tore my heart in two.


A broken up shadow your body


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love poemssleep

Reading (Sestina)

Ian Hayles started a discussion about the Sestina form. Thought I would give it a go...was a little bit of a headache because I just picked the six words at random - book, fooling, apple, mouth, chair and tower - before I had my idea but see what you think folks...





From the echo, declared the book:

“My fruits are never fooling,

dangling words, a tease o...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Neptune's Daughter | Untitled Bubble | I cannot write. | Colourless Green Ideas Sleep Furiously | Generation T(shirt) | Hikikomori | On Reading War |


How do you open a soul that’s already been closed? 

How do you heal a heart that’s already been stolen? 

Where do you go when you’re alone and the only light you see seems to go further and further away. 

 You just have to start to breathe again,

To wake each day ,

To smile again to open yourself  to the world and just hold on to hope and let go of fear

just be just ...

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Cerise Press

The spring edition of Cerise Press will soon be avaialble on-line. It's free, and it's good. Well, I write for it, anyway. All you have to do is subscribe, which is easy - just google Cerise Press and follow the links.

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From where did I get the notion

there's something wrong with emotion?

The human tribe runs on feelings,

and we starve if it's all just dealings.


So I reject staying remote,

I want to connect, want to emote.

Give myself permission to feel,

let myself love, be loved and be real.


A person is not just a book

to open and take a quick look.

Each one...

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Also by Dave Bradley:

Beyond the Garden #3 | Beyond the Garden #2 | Beyond the garden | When is the ground? | Filling time at grandparent's (Childhood) | Ruchill Park, Glasgow 10 a.m. 29th December 2010 | Respect |

Burns Night

Macarthur parked his bicycle between two tartan vans

On Burns night in the Trossachs, 'twas the gathering of the clans


An evening of poetry, of rhymes and songs and ditties

While serving wenches strolled around with big plates of Mcvities


Someone read a poem about a scottish cat Mcavity

But mostly it was bawdy stuff of lewdness and depravity


Macintosh w...

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Burns Night

New Year

The year begins, as the streets are chaotic past dusk

Looking back, our breath rides against our footsteps

In the fallen snow, gleaming in the street lights' glow

As a dozen shadows fall from view

And, to the day, the bottles burst

Into glasses that are raised

To the endless world of feigned resolutions

But only the year will be maintained

Until it itself is out


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Also by Joshua Van-Cook:

Bigotry | The Useful |


Strange to think small dreams morph,

spark dotted pathways on and on.

Still blemished weights of coherence

lie, carve to memory those that last.


Shed for absurdity and more,

the tears I cry know no line

or minutes fair, deliberate time.

The best of thoughts live in the past.


Witnesses can tut and tsssk,

queue to sign my page for free.

Shout ou...

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Are you a narcisst

Do you pose in pictures on your own?

Think you have pouting sensous lips and eyes of marble stone/

Do you take ass and make it into class?
Do you look in the mirror and can't tear your eyes away?

and  you can't find a partner worthy enough of you

Have you got a blue steel look or Marilyn Monroe pose?

Do you have to many clothes?

Do your friends all think your great?


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Also by Daniel Hooks:

you make stories | I have a few questions? | Geekology | Make believe |

Standing close

Mild for the weather for this time of year

outside, standing and chatting and laughing,

standing close and I’m trapped by the wall

and I feel enclosed, and I feel... I...

... feel!

Standing close, I feel.  And I shouldn’t feel.

Rain permeates the non-coloured memories

damp, sodden evenings and damp, sodden mornings

remembering: neglected, remembering rejection


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social commentary

The Scratchers and the Scrawlers


The Scratchers and the Scrawlers


We shall not forget

Signs scrawled by Neanderthals on almost every wall we walked past.

An N, in capital form with two lines added, which digressed to suggest a capital F.

It was scratched into a table

It was scratched into many a table

It was scratched into too many a table often by near illiterate authors who wanted to blame...

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Also by Mark Mr T Thompson:

Africa United | A couple of SA influenced pieces, first is a draft | When they came... | New X (30 years after the tragic fire) | She fed my soul | Confirmed up coming gigs | Equally bad (AKA Rantings of an antisexist man in a post-feminist world) | A why is... | If we are |


The Very First Time


She asked me for a kiss,
I had to tell her no not yet,
for I'm a little shy still,
but please don't get upset.
She asked me for a cuddle,
I said perhaps another day,
for I got splashed in a big puddle,
when some dog ran past my way.
She said "Well I can come in,
and wait while you clean up,
then maybe put the kettle on,
for I know I'...

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Also by Dave Dunn:

Quorellimus Quoragg | She Sang... | While They Scam... | My Head Hurts... ;) | The Borders Of Mankind | New Year Wishes |

Before the Curtains Open

Before I open the curtains,
close your eyes
and listen to the
soft, almost
invisible breeze
sneaking in and out
of my window still.

Before I open the curtains,
listen to the nervousness
of my every touch
as I gently blow
over the tip of your hair
so it feels
like an imaginary comb
stroking your head.

Close your eyes
and listen to the branches

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Searching threw the blue lagoon,
Entering shallows were the boats are tombs,
As I entered I saw a light,
Gave me scare,
Gave me freight.

So I stood still,
In this light was an angel,
And she did fill, every emotion of my own free will,
For all these emotions a man would kill,
So I stood still.

The water was moving,
The sharks were lurking,
While I was searching,

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In memory



Emerald greens

Forgotten dreams


Bacchic delight

Morning plight


Friendlier strangers

Drunken wagers


Calmer living

Always giving


Fantastic craic

Guinness attack


Beautiful island

My Ireland


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Also by alan barlow:

Flambe | Maybe | One night | In task | The pen is mightier than the sword ? | She | The Scream | Torn | Insomniacs Ball | Conceptual | a moment in time | stripes | Starlight Over The Rhone | childhood |


Reality is Five by Seven Miles

Crimson gulps tea


rough hands grasping the mug


Off centre like Wednesday

Trying to get even

with seven

and at one with her past


She dreams on tip-toes

of grass birds nests

and the seagulls serenade.

Giggles at the secrets

snow whispers.


Reality is a five by seven mile


longing for curves.

It snaps rule...

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OpenMind Valentine's Day Poetry Slots available

We've now opened up the OpenSpace at our OpenMind events for up to date news and information please visit:


The Facebook event page is here: http://


After our headliner and special guests we have 2 hours to fill with OpenSpace slots so if you'd like to read at a poetry...

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Also by Ushiku Crisafulli:

Bright Lights Off | Broken Bridges | The Death of War | High Society |

The Sky is finally clear

With pride being my weakess, I'd cut my nose off to spite my face,

but at the end of the day, it would only be me who falls from Grace.


So I walk on by with a Cheshire Cat grin,

and now the truth is out its only me who can win.


My rose tinted glasses are now fully removed,

I've only just realised it was myself that needed to be proved.


I had been blinde...

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Touching Souls

Where are the keys
why do we suffer these
nine to five, making the best of things
six to twelve, I'm not making the most of me

Where is the doorway into
the life we always thought was ours
five years pass, then ten years have passed
I'm older now but no nearer to where I want to be

These prisons
these cells
why do we dwell here
are you the key
are you the one for m...

Read and leave comments (3)

Also by Tom:

Hush Little Nightmare | Childhood - Competition Follow Up to 'Space' |

Vintage Heart

You tear to shreds

My already frayed edges.

A patch worked rescue attempt.

There is little strength found

in the weakness of this cloth.


Once adorned, a sequined delight

Still a shimmer in the right light

Restore to former glorious glamour.

Flat Iron this crinkled mess

wear with a vintage heart.

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click click click


That was a big house

Came down out the sky

And in the end it fell on me

Just my sparkly shoes to show

 I really have been so wicked

A young girl now is wearing

My sparkly shoes,

Clicking her heels and feeling fine

She thinks I am dead, but

In this invisibility of middle age

I am enjoying the privacy

And the pleasure of knowing

I don’t nee...

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A Man Walked Into A Room

A man and a room.

A man walks into a room.

He's a man, definitely a man.

Not a lady, or a unicorn,

or an urchin.


Does he seek out virgins?

Not that I'm aware of.

Was he at any time a lady?

A man walks into a room.


The definite article of a man.

Walking into a room.

Is he Our man?

Our man walks into a room.



Our man ...

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Gardening is hard Work

snapdragons around the garden chase

the manic butterflies embrace

the warmth, the light, their endless day

below them vivid scents sashay

a gusting waft soars up then dips

that ordered plot is now eclipsed

as rough and coarse the wild hedge

hides villains twixt its rush and sedge

cultured cultiation lost

sky and horizon now accost

and gobble up that force...

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The Woman Behind the Veil - the great Burqa Debate...

Here we ask is the media and the cosmetics industry as oppressive to women as the Islamic burqua?

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burqaburuaislamwomans issueswomens rightscosmetics issuefaithfreedommakeuppoetrymuslim poetrychristian poetru

Rain after Snow

The snow made my road look clean,

grey-brown ruts and cracks became pristine,

and the cleansing power of the rain

only restored all the hidden shame

of broken paving slabs patched with tarmac,

crumbling kurb stones and crooked drains,

mismatched roof tiles, weeds in gutters

dog and cat shit now uncovered;

a washed up wonderland rediscovered.

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Here in My Childhood

Here in my childhood

wearing robes my mother chose for me

I play; I grow; I learn how to please


Here in my childhood

wearing robes my teachers chose for me

I grow and play, learn how to appease


Here in my childhood

wearing robes I earned and chose for me

I travel the world with a 'hold-all'


Here in my childhood

we walk; my love, my life ...

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Retrograde (N+15)


An N+15 version of a poem of mine that was published in the Journal of Nieztsche Studies.
(generated by ).
I am the splurge of retro zoom curd 
A costumed crony locality in a counselling dray 
I am the profession of what was copse 
Reaching rotor tennis 
I live in inverted commissaries 
In a send-off-imposed casket 
I am...

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Indian's Head

I thought I might propose some prose.

“Indian’s Head,” she said, out of the blue. “that’s where I want you to scatter my ashes, son.”

I almost dropped the tea I’d brought, about her twentieth that night; surprised just as much at the fact she was talking about death at all, let alone her own.

“Indian’s Head? I didn’t know you’d ever…”

“I think it was the happiest day of my life ...

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