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A Magazine for

Hymn

It’s one of those days where you’ve found God, finally.
You’ve been heathen for weeks

but now your body—
its bumpy legs, its fingers gripping the kettle

—now your voice, its own animal, belting out
Aretha in the garden that you’re lucky to have

—now your mood, reflecting off red brick terraces,
and painting the pavement in light

have brought you in under the wing of religion.

It’s one of those days where God’s right here,
not bearded or sandaled, not a bloke in a robe,

just your body, walking uphill to the park.

More Poetry

Flood Risk Management Strategy

What if climate change meant turning parts of the city into flood mitigation reservoirs? This poem imagines the result.

The Way I Flourish

Poems from Sheffield Flourish’s The Way I Flourish creative writing course, exploring themes of narrative, identity, journey and home.

Careers advice

Let’s imagine, for a moment, smoking is an animal. What kind of animal will it be? Something violent and endangered, I think. A bizarre evol…

Let’s imagine, for a moment, smoking is an animal. What kind of animal will it be?
Something violent and endangered, I think. A bizarre evol

Sometimes It Helps

I rode around the garden today on a big white horse.I was naked except for sunglassesSometimes it helps.To feel extravagant and theatrical.D…

I rode around the garden today on a big white horse.I was naked except for sunglassesSometimes it helps.To feel extravagant and theatrical.D
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