Three poems by the Bridport Prize-shortlisted poet, Matthew Spence
A storm had rolled in from the channel to soak the last seconds of the century.
It is a cold day in October and by half-past eight the early fog has still not lifted.
Adams – (17) is convinced his brains entitle him with the right to lord over everyone. He doesn’t need teaching, hell he’s a teacher.
A translation of a poem by Orhan Veli Kanik.