Comment, Prose

The Symbolism of Poppies

by Cora MacGregor Each November fresh controversies arise regarding the Remembrance poppy. These ostensibly emerge out of individual cases or concerns particular to the present day: the expectation for public figures to wear a poppy, how to reconcile this with the demands for neutrality, and fears over the potential for slimy politicians to exploit the […]

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Comment, Creative Writing, Prose

How to Write Yourself a Past 

by Michael Angerer Our memories are the stories that we tell ourselves: to remember is to scribble in faint pencil across the fabric of our lives. When inspiration strikes – a light across the ceiling, the warmth of a bed, a cup of tea – we conjure up an image of the past that neatly […]

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Poetry

‘The Past We See Today’

by Simon Norris Hello old friend,           Remember me?           You know me not,           But all you see of me                            Is a memory There is no time like the […]

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Comment, Prose

Slow Travel: Soul of a Nation

by Tobias Thornes Through the green heart of Thailand we had rushed, where the hills erupt like forested thimbles or rounded dice scattered across the plain: a mesmerising memory of a land where Earth still stores some beleaguered secrets amidst her lofty nooks. The train snipped the undergrowth, charging over little-serviced rails. Yet, sluggish seemed […]

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Poetry

‘Train Station Tear Tracks – On Trauma’

by Aaron Cawood Lights up. The bench at the train station; we sit. Only, now, in Act Two, I smile, In spite of the crowd – I feed the first line. And because you are there, I smile throughout the Act. As, because you are there, sirens pass in quiet. And, because you are there, […]

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Poetry

‘Remembrance’

by Simon Norris For your tomorrow        We offered up our own. We lay ourselves down                  Under a torn quilt of poppies                Across the rift of war. We let you walk upon our backs          To peace. We caught the bullets       And shells With our bodies. A wall of resolve        And flesh and blood. The poppies                […]

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