Comment, Prose

The Ghosts of Protests Past

by Zixin Jiang and Martin Yip ‘Nostalgia’ has two meanings. Originally, it meant ‘homesickness’. Today, it means ‘longing for the past’. For Hongkongers living in the UK, both meanings are apt. On Sunday 9th June, huge crowds filled the streets of Hong Kong to protest against a proposed law that would allow anyone in Hong […]

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Creative Writing, Prose

Winter [4/4]

by Leo Gillard Content warning: implied/referenced emotional abuse The sky was dark, and as Zach sat on the chair next to the radiator, he could watch snow falling. The street they lived on was always pretty poorly lit at night, but the light from the single streetlamp he could spot illuminated the flakes as they […]

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Comment, Prose

Nostalgia

by Peter Gent Four years ago when we launched the print edition of The Poor Print, the editorial team, then led by Jacob Warn, had an idea: we would publish anything anyone submitted. But, we said, we would only do so if we could shape submissions with a strong editorial hand. We wanted concise, pithy, […]

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Poetry

A View Across the Bridge at Me

by Tom Saer ‘Can you give me a cautious “yes”?’floats up to me from the past, one of my first auditions. Time is a flat circle for me for five small portal minutes.Out of my pint glass body, staring at the stage, the wormhole made when I think about what things look like from the […]

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Creative Writing, Prose

I Remember

by Monim Wains A blank white lit the room, harsh surgical light on every sterile surface. It would have felt clean and empty were it not for the sombre that stained the air. Silence echoed through the room. All the colours were muted: pastel blue and that green that looked like plastic dyed in washing […]

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Poetry

Sonnet I

by Chloe Jacobs I wonder if my mother, younger, Hair bleached summer blonde And smelling, strong, of chlorine, Ever pictured this. This cold place,That borrowed home, Her careful calculus of living. They say you give a part Of yourself, to your child.Inventory: eyes, nose, lips, fear,Hands like mine hand them to me.Perhaps this is why […]

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