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There’s never much on T.V Just a bunch of kitsch shit and a load of cheap tat There’s never much on T.V There’s Gok Wan telling women how they’re fat There’s never much on T.V The imagery…
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Theres never much …
by bellamy
Flew Sneakypeaks Fallout E.P Ambiel Music Flew Sneakypeaks has masterminded a sound which will capture the imagination of aspiring musicians. A blend of Breakbeat drumming and unique synthesisers create a landscape rarely heard in…
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Local music review
by Frisky Dingo
The moon I capture, I climb to only fall from the vine. And swoon in rapture, The hand I kiss is the body I miss. Wash my love away, Encased in embrace and twilight touch. Wash my love away, Divine to dine…
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Wash My Love Away
by Tinny Buffnell
Soft upon the back of her neck, Disarmed by hope if she rejects. Strength and time are old friends of mine, With “que sera” lightly sketched. Pressed to her forehead is best, The descent is a lover’s…
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I Felt
by Tinny Buffnell
I walked through the cobbled streets and arches holding hands with my despair I feel a ghostly presence caress my skin but nobodies there Its not that I feel alone I mourn the loss of my darling Her rosy cheeks and highlights…
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Arches and Streets…
by bellamy
Film Review - Up Are Pixar upping the stakes? Pixar have been introducing more depth and maturity in to their movies and this is shown in their previous release ‘WALL-E’ and now the most recent outing ‘Up’. <br…
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Up - film review
by Frisky Dingo
Madonna,  Mulletts and Miami Vice Rubiks cubes, the breakfast club and Marty Mcfly Synth pop bands and Duran Duran And some popular sci-film about large plains of sand Arnold Schwarzenegger hunting Sarah Connor …
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Madonna, Mullets a…
by bellamy
A repeated cycle of five days Waking up in a scornful haze To then look outside to see the skies are grey And release sigh of dismay Performing a job that seems mundane Everyday different, though essentially the same<br…
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The Office
by bellamy
Wildlife Rescue in Suffolk Rescuing wildlife in Suffolk and NE Essex certainly has its ups and downs, both physically and mentally. One day most of the calls we get are to simple collections of hedgehogs or birds that have been injured…
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Wildlife Rescue in…
by Griz
I’ve been thinking about you…
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Let it Ring…
by Natascha Tallow…
The suffocating anaesthetic of guilt wears troublingly on my mind. Crackles of unexpected hysteria elucidate within my veins. Whispers collect into passages of time Minutes, - hours. Odd pockets of reckless…
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The Hours
by Natascha Tallow…
Too many words You use too many words. Do you know that? Do you know what you do? Too Many Words. Anyway, You’re a better poet than I am. Who am I to judge? I…
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Promise Me (you wo…
by Natascha Tallow…
I’m told there is an Emerald Palace Somewhere on the sapphire sea There, they say, lives a prince of stone I’m quite sure he can’t see me. They say his heart is worn by time That his beauty is marred…
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The Emerald Palace
by Natascha Tallow…
I, she, have so many selves, So many destructive selves. I, she, am not too sure of who I am, For there are several of me. I am honest She, dishonest We, both, most of the time It’s the honest…
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Acts of Poetic Ins…
by Natascha Tallow…
Without hope or agenda, I write this. I want you to know, I know you are perfect and can’t stop. I’m writing this without hope or agenda. And for that … I am sorry.
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Without Hope or Ag…
by Natascha Tallow…
For some, love fades slowly sighing an acknowledgement of defeat. For others love is simply lost, never to return again But then of course love can also be found; and held onto. Sometimes love can even be found…
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Daydreaming of You…
by Natascha Tallow…
With plucked tights I sit, back against cold metal. Mind slighted with a thread of marbled thoughts that slither past, around, and up against one another. “Chris.” I say the word out loud and a passerby quickens her…
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For You, The Drunk…
by Natascha Tallow…
Realistically There are lots of fish in the sea. And if I had a different rod I would concievably land some. So much of what I feel reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other…
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If I Didn’t …
by Natascha Tallow…
Never meet the ones you watch. She writes. Watching doesn’t hurt. Watching excites. She invented the soul of someone perfect. Who, on paper, gave life to memories, stole daisies and placed them in her hair,…
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Eight Years
by Natascha Tallow…
Onto the open veranda, steps a figure. A cloak slithers about his back, writhes across the tiled floor and flicks its corners in the wind. His breathless body pauses, waiting for the limp mannered girls inevitable invitation.…
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Dracula
by Natascha Tallow…
Words bleed from the tips of our pens Clotting in thick paragraphs, pale sentences We know the beat of a bad memory, But we bring it back to life anyway. We know how lurid, how pretty Pain can be. We take moments…
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Awake and Dreaming
by Natascha Tallow…
So there’s this girl, Susanna Kaysen, who confused life with a dream She overdosed on aspirin, which the doctor thought extreme Her excuse was her delusions - she wanted to be sane He recommends a private mental home, where…
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Girl, Interrupted
by Natascha Tallow…
A halo of fluttering hot air flickers, glitters next to the road side. The thick smell of burning rubber, and the suffocating scent of petrol rises, before the wind carries it up, up and away, curling through fluttering palm trees, dancing about…
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Another Natural Di…
by Natascha Tallow…
The dream of someone else, So gentle, so kind and sweet He seemed. His presence - a dose of warm honey Creeping through the veins Our eyes met above a glimmering row of Candied sweets and handsome treats The…
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The Dream of Someo…
by Natascha Tallow…
He walked in the pouring rain Slithering green drop, by green drop feathering across his scarves He’d been read in books before bedtime Dreamed in dreams before morning And now he was real But he wasn’t sure…
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Fragments of a Fai…
by Natascha Tallow…
Did you see his eyes? An expression vacant of surprise Still amazed, I am, by his perfection That the resurrection of an undeniable affection begins to ripple within an undercurrent just out of detection. And with movements…
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The Hitchhiker
by Natascha Tallow…
This poem is a code, It’s a secret kind of ode It holds the story of a man within it’s words. It was written on a whim whilst I was thinking about him And now I wonder just where…
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Chase Manhattan
by Natascha Tallow…
I lived on the corner of a bed, And I talked with my eyes. My mind was always too over-stimulated by shiny things, To use real words. My thoughts meandered from time, to place. Restless like the wind inside a chimney…
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The Last Poet
by Natascha Tallow…

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