Prole

A shout-out for Prole magazine, which has just won the 2016 Saboteur Award for Best Poetry Magazine.

What I like about it is that the poetry they publish feels like 21st century poetry. Poetry of our times rather than purely academic echoes of our poetic past.

Take this one by Rachel Clyne from the last issue. I love the playfulness of it.

Having my cake and…

I’ve nothing against éclairs,
their shape and choux,
chocolate slick on the outside,
hidden cache of cream
waiting to burst, like a sax break,
all brass and brash. I relished them,
but really I wanted a trumpet
of my own to blow.

It was vanilla slices that did it for me,
all pink and secret
layers you can get the tip of your
tongue into, lick the custard cream,
feel the harp strings
vibrating in your hand, followed
by fairy cakes with a cherry
to slip between your lips.

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4 thoughts on “Prole

  1. The joy of Vanilla slice.
    I once bought six and shared none. And like that – they were gone.
    Mille feuille, my eternal mistress.
    It is the exercise of lateral thinking in flakey pastry and confectioners custard.
    To eat in public with fingers – remove the top layer and place it underneath.
    In private – undress.

    I bought two from Patisserie Valerie recently and ate them on a crowded train.
    It was the most obscene thing I have ever done in full public view.

    Liked by 1 person

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