Greetings all.



The New Trad Journal, a publication dedicated to new creative work employing traditional (especially ancient) verse forms, with an emphasis on contemporary subjects. We will launch the first themed issue in 2013, and are currently seeking collaborators. Creative contributions will of course be welcome, although we have not made a call for submissions. Right now we are looking for collaborators to join with us in setting the direction of the project and…

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Larry L, Erika Badiou, Too Loose for you

and Matahari hop to Cheshire infantry

mon enfance

Brel strict symphonie



in three



waltz the poor o

mop

the poor o mope

sadness and trickiness

is your angry man scope



the happy? well man, that's double crappy

no gold sold or blood diamonds to Nairobi

fluvial unities



pulsing with xy dynamite

parabola surface dig to

open cut

the kinky sufi master at a rave



old man…

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We are always looking for people to review for us – books, films, drama, visual arts whatever. Right now we have a long list of books that are available for review.

You can find a complete list (as of 19 November 2012) at:

• http://rochfordstreetreview.com/books-available-for-review/books-received/

Since the beginning of October we have also been providing a little more…

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When I am alone for many years

the voice of people whisked away

the epistrophe of their entreaties

do not escape me



the planets by radial circuitry

hum and integrate the calls

to return by broadcasts

heard solely by



not my ear but the

porous waves

interrupting my thoughts

as rude music

that makes me smile knowingly



"Ah, they miss me"  I think

When I am alone I miss them

with pointed fury



the heart is a silent…

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I'm a twat

And a frosty one at that

Ice pick tongue

And a sledge hammer hat

Bullet riddled conscience

Trigger heart trap

Try to find the eye

In the strange soul

Of the human stump

Comes the slump of the insane guy

Me mummy me mummy memummyencummium

And some arseholes aeolian harp

The same fucking wind that blew past harmony

Just settled on a cig butt and a half eaten tragedy

Scream past me you mother fuckers

Ring your… Continue

My pockets stuffed

with memories,

I'm going in search

of yesterday,

past the streets

of recall, and

over the bridge of

long ago,

hoping to find that

child who was never

going to grow up.

 

When I find him I'll

tell him

how proud I am

of him,

and how he never

gave in

and never let go of

his inner child,

keeping the two of us

together,

then .…

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Impatience to finish responsibilities

is the sour nectar to panic

this refrain dissonates



the memory of myself as a child

therefore

...

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