CHRIS SEARLE recommends a work of love and deep admiration for a great musician
City of Winds
John McCullough
And I bound along the prom, fizzing from your text.
You’re dreadful, making me so reckless—the distant slap
of a flip-flop and whoosh here I go again kiting
off to the bandstand or higher regions of the air.
In this world without objects a basketball is its bounce
wet stones become their shine deep colours I could enter
curl up in for years. The wind is pure smell ventures
over oceans just to reach the grubby motel of my lungs.
ANDY CROFT welcomes the publication of an anthology of recent poems published by the Morning Star, and hopes it becomes an annual event
TONY FOX invites readers to come and hear the story of the remarkable Liverpudlian International Brigader Alexander Foote
by Josie Giles
by Widad Nabi


