Young Poets

Published here are some of the excellent poems we receive from our gifted young writers.

You can submit poems either by post (please enclose a stamped address envelope for reply), via our on-line portal, or by email to Please mark the contents ‘Young Poet Submission’, put this in the subject line if you are submitting by email, and put your name, age and address on each page of the submission.

Please submit no more than four poems. You should be aged between 16 and 25 years, the work should be unpublished. 

More information about submitting your poetry

Sidney Lawson

Sidney Lawson


I’d like to have her laugh / Which erupts like a broken hose / Fixing at the wrong time, or his shoulders / Which people love to lay their head on. (from The Party by Sinéad O’Reilly)

In dizzy rooms awash with eyes of green,

The air is smoke, the water something pink,

And I whose shoulder people love to lean

Their heads on might not be what they think.

My silken hair is wrought with curls of fire,

Will promise bliss for those who catch my eye,

For rumours single touches drive desire

Wild, they’re true, it’s true I make them cry.

They hover drunk in swarms towards my scent

(Chanel, almost) to lap from fountains gold

Which feed my font of honeyed truth, and lent

As if by Gods, or Lucifer, to whom I sold my soul.

I see myself in cigarettes and yearn.

Oh God, oh Christ, oh fuck, oh fuck, I burn.


The truth finds me, the truth loves me. Pilgrim,

You haven’t the gold for the truths I’ve told,

Couldn’t handle that which hides behind lies of old.

The grass unloads its griefs upon my feet

As if I am God, its prickling a prayer. Not

God but O gold-winged messenger of mighty Gods.

My fables float towards the gates of heav’n.

Saint Pete panics, unsure of what to make

Of me, he who knows more of worlds than deity.

Thunder follows lustrous footprints in my wake,

For I have awoken the malevolent king, I,

Teller of tales, I, the Creator’s greatest mistake.

O God-Drop

I crave, kill pain, gift faith to soulless sentience.

This fleshy stack of muscles, veins, and nerves

Will praise your healing works, your little miracles.

O plastic capsule, globule, God-orb, God-ball

Who’s eucharistic in the act of feigning lifelessness,

I beg, I pray to you to numb the burning nerves.

And while you wield a lethal dynamism

Disguised beneath benevolent guise,

I know, I know, I cannot help but think,

Be haunted by the years before your birth,

Before Asclepius, his snakes in extremis,

When all there was was hurt and hurt breathed.

Audrey Hunter

Audrey Hunter

This Is What I’m Thinking

Rain on the window & the ground

Everything is impermeable

So we leave behind streetside streams

& we leave in them

I want to go home

But I rue the journey

Hate the water that drowns the roads

Hate the water that ends up where

I’m wanting to go

I know what it means to be taken for granted

Sprinkle down & write your message in

On the windshield

Watching out for what’s next

You know what it means to have no idea

There is nothing left between the walls

That hold me up in place here

So I am facing skywards

I am falling with my eyes

And then the rest of me

Headed nowhere,

Headed north,

Headed to the gulf,

Traveling smooth but splashed up and around

By reckless, wantless tires

And nothing is lost to the concrete

But something is lost to the air

Little Movements

We can laugh it off all we want but

It won’t change a thing.

It hangs around us,

The air is thick and clouded like stream water

I never have any idea what to say.

Swallow smoke and spit out blindness

Nothing left after the sun rises

& eats up homes,

Cleans out the valley,

And nothing is left except the sighs,

Hitting the walls of the hills

This (like everything) Is About Self Esteem

After my friends across the hall have

Nodded off

I’ll be the loud one

I’ll call the front desk

I am the ghost, the prankster

All my feelings come in seasons

Brought on my rafts of heavy rain

There’s nothing I love all the time

I am a hummingbird,

A big bee,

I weigh nothing, I cost nothing

If you hit too hard

If you look too long

I fall off the face of the earth

I leave nothing

I play songs that become you down halls that

Drip and ooze

Your feet fall on velvet drums

And make velvet songs

I open doors quiet

But I close them loud

There’s a call, a creak for help either way

I cost nothing, I leave nothing

More Young Poets

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Emily Riley

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Liberty Price

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Alex Walker

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Anna Ray

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Imogen Davies

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