The Baths of Aphrodite, a poem by Brian Johnstone. It was to picnic, grace these woods. A belly round and moulded as a loaf,. Her locks, these burnished leaves. That drift in every crack. We taste her in these waters. Streaming from the rock,. From the basin of our hands. What custom has strung up here.

Wednesday, 9 August 2017. Poetry24 is open once again, and eager to receive your. The site now has a new address and a slightly different look.

He lingers in Yalbury Wood,. A thrush cries in a thicket. Barbed wire against desiccated sky. He lingers in Yalbury Wood. A thrush cries in a thicket. Fence posts are machine guns. He lingers in Yalbury Wood. His feet shatter bones,. Dried leaves under his boot. A thrush cries in a thicket. Narcissus planted for spring,. He lingers in Yalbury Wood;. A thrush cries in a thicket.

100 days of poetry for the austere generation. A man in a cap. Of the pool of blood. Looked left, then right,.