Authorz: Thomas Thurman

Once, a young fresher was reading the rules, and was more than perplexed at the place where they state “All undergraduates, if they are Anglicans,…

They say my future follows on your past, Commanded not to love you by the wise: They say he never truly lives who lies A…

If life should ever leave you left behind just take a holiday. I’ll stay with you within a small hotel I call my mind. A…

Two creatures’ eyes have seen the sun, and now their lids are filled with dust. But if their eyes were blue, or brown, I cannot…

Your poetry holds picnics in the places where some would say that words should never go; there’s strange delight in passing through those spaces where…

When I am old, as owned by wrinkled skin, and not by thought, since I’m already old, do not kowtow to what you see. Within…

When your creator took her crayon box That day she thought to draw you all alive, She found a certain green to sketch your locks,…

This moment, I am God upon this town. I compass every window spread below: each pinprick point in total looking down a pattern only overseers…

When I was young I feared my growing old lest, being old, I should want youth again, or lest the growing old should cause me…

Before the sun begins to set we’ll share another cup of tea; the kettle’s never settled yet before the sun begins to set, and every…

And I have nothing else to do again But walk these halls and wish I wasn’t here, But picking berries in a country lane. A…

The world’s so queer, and yet you show surprise to find him solid in the midday light. He looks at you with strangely laughing eyes.…

Hallelujah Simpkins, Syllogism Brown, Wandered up to Barkingside to walk around the town. Does it make you wonder, when they ring the bell, How they…

Welcome to the adult world! Feel a clumsy failing fool. Living is a tricky game, Harder than they tell at school. Every day beyond your…

I thought I saw an execution there. The fascinated public gathered round. The cheerful hangmen stripped the victim bare And built their gibbet high above…

Here as I sit and number pretty jewels, the colours small and shining as they stand arrayed or strewn, in lines as though unplanned and…

My inside’s on the out, the day I die, Though (here and now) my inside’s on the in. Spread out like spirit butter on the…

But you’re clutching a script if the world is your stage. You’ve mumbled, you’ve slipped, but you’re clutching a script and the binding is ripped…

I have a dream I almost dare— to tell a spell, a tale to share, binding words into a snare, but I find there’s nothing…

With mind in neutral on the train today I thought about a poem that I’d seen ten years, four thousand miles, a life away inside…