Lauren Thomas

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the poet

An MA student in Poetry Writing with Newcastle University at The Poetry School, London, Lauren Thomas has had work in various print and online publications. Her poems have appeared in Nine Pens' Hair Raising Anthology, Black Bough Poetry's second Christmas/Winter anthology, and most recently, in Lighthouse Journal and Magma. Lauren's pamphlet, Silver Hare Tales, was published in 2021.

the poems

Garden’s End

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                  Once I found a fallen body

                  under leaves, beneath the pear,


                  kneeling at the garden’s end

                  with others in the dark.


                  I’d always feared those shadow trees,

                  the tenet of their bark,


                  their hard rust fruit with nothing

                  but the pull and barb of wasps


                  and browning apples bruised

                  and thick with slugs.


                  I shifted on the ancient moss,

                  regarded the sharp ends of grass.


                  Her wings were spread as if to touch

                  the purple edges of this place.


                  Eyelids closed, her slowing breath,

                  holding less than songs.


                  I put her in a cardboard box

                  offered up the vivid pink umbilic twists


                  of worms. Murmured drops of milk

                  as words, whispered less than prayers.


                  Far away my mother’s voice, was calling

                  to the garden’s end.


                  I thought of salvaging our lost

                  and sunlight trapped inside green glass.

Ysbyty Ifan

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Ancient backcloth upland moor, shifting with the currents of a restless wind

Beneath quiver-grass parched runnels, lie brass rubbings potted into ground

A bronze-agronomist cured and historied within the glug and clag of peatland bog


His green shallow-pool whispers flow through leather bones, chambered                                                                                               underground

Iterations rotted into earthtongues, gills and seeds. A carbon keep, embogged

We patch the purple-orange hummocks so that muddied river crossings can rewind


Time speckles gold upon the Plover, returns Whorl-Snails and sculpts the bog

Back to ewer. Stagnant moss births fruiting bodies, rafting spinner silk enwinds

With Sundews trapping raptors, feeding rooting bonnets. This is when the earth                                                                                                   regrounds


Upland bog. Oxidised Pitkins pink the wind. History sings through the quenched                                                                                                       ground

L'Origine Du Monde

After Zena Assi

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                  We found her floating in a stream

                  folded like an origamied boat:

                  a woman made of paper.


                  Her closed eyes did not reveal

                  the truth — her green roots trailing

                  anchors in the red-rushed water.


                  We thought she had been left for dead

                  after they had picked her up

                  and sewed her shut to stop the sound of sea.


                  We lay her flooded body underneath

                  a weeping tree, casting light upon a bird cage

                  hanging there in homage to her bones.


                  Cold wet fingers flayed her printed skin

                  like peeling robes from a drowned daughter

                  like lifting memory from stone.


                  We gazed at her beauty, peered inside

                  to see how she was made. Her catacombs

                  all glittering and lined with live grenades.

Publishing credits

Garden's End: Silver Hare Tales (Blood Moon Poetry)

Ysbyty Ifan: Magma (Issue 81 – Anthropocene)

L’Origine Du Monde: exclusive first publication by iamb