Issue 29: AuthorName

Nursery Rhymes for Geraldine



fuck a loveity                                do da day

fuckity loveity duckity                day



love-a-duck                                  lawks!

fuckity loveity                             doo daa







Scat Heraclitus I

Summ’at of a gentrified jester

this iz-a-biz what

country, what hare-pigeons

What? I am packing

boxes with pale hair

already tied in ribbons, bewildered

Have we seen it yet? The movie

the hell real short-stop pumpkin

popcorn. Are we meant yet? The movie

The real movie is hell to pay for

Ah be slippin’ & crowns follow

my bump, bump down the stairs

a vendor selling enamel for nails

to harden maybe I’ll brush it on

my tears. Stop yourself they tell

you. I see no picture, what picture?

Focus frigger. Do.




In The Nursery

Forfeit it

the rhyme

beats down

like the sun

I hold it

it cries

I goo at it

it wets itself

& me

have to

change it

Mr. Wet-pants again.




Scat Heraclitus II

If Lima be willin’

sweet bean hurry me up

to the flower-tower

I engage drastically

C’mon, show me it is good

for now or

never in the next liberation

of the house of echo

hours fast forward & then

pause. Rope she is flaxen

molten crinoline with braided

trim, cower your arms

are over your head your

hands are holding each other

your uterus is endangered because

it is that much is all

lilly forgets. Rose for hate if

yellow, white if for death

becomes endless nights

for no-one in particular

Echo, wind that clutches

your heart like a coyote.






A Dittle



When the jade moon

of Tonga calls

for the last escape

we’ll be riding eggs

& entrails tick &

flow round as

mountains ripe

as grapes of rot

when we come

rip ash grave rot

welsh she strums

a cracked pot

when we come

When the dashing man

of the Shaved Head

smiles, his teeth appear

yellow & ungainly rousing

no rabble rouser finger laid

in the steaming depression fits


we’ll be gluein’ bodies

strummin’ belly-bumpin’ round

the mountain strumpet

hound jello-grubbin’

when we come

When fossils made of ice

hang rusty & enchanted & ducks

have re-routed Stella falls

from the sky legs taut

lands on concrete & says

her head has not cracked

as these knees have

bruised on frozen piles of dog

manure & bright yellow

urine trinkles, steam rising up

in small but determined wisps

We’ll be shovellin’

shit ruby kraut save

shot round the mountain

Rub doubt crave sod

Wench, she comes.


[Sascha A. Akhtar has crafted six metaphysical poetry collections, a short story collection Of Necessity And Wanting embracing social realism and a volume comprising a biography and first time translations of Hijab Imtiazs' little known manuscript Adab-E-Zareen upcoming in 2022 with Oxford University Press. Akhtar is a Poetry School tutor and lecturer at the University of Greenwich. She performs internationally, some highlights include the Emirates Festival of Literature 2022 and Rotterdam Poetry Festival 2012.  Latest writings appear in the Prototype Annual 4, Cut-Purse (Tangerine Press, 2022), Of Myths and Mothers anthology 2022 and Lucy Writers Platform. Akhtar has poetry forthcoming with both Intergraphia and Haverthorn Press.]

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