All new literary magazines are founded with just such a mix of passion and naivety. No editor would undertake the task if they didn’t feel utterly compelled, nor if they truly understood what they ...  >

Tournlogo13 Advert

Turning Point

John Foulcher

A church as plain/ as the people we are … A poem by John Foulcher

Another turn
among all the turns not taken
and the stream of visitors
drags you back in
through shoals of souvenirs and surfaces,
till you’re washed up
like flotsam
in the shallows around St Marco’s,
where pigeons change the paving to swirl and eddy,
grey over grey.
The storm that blew
the morning vaporettos from the Grand Canal
has worn itself out. Sunlight lacquers the marble and the stone.

Another turn,
into an alley that trickles between canals
and takes you here, to a stillness
you didn’t want.
You wander over wooden bridges,
past wider water,
past the Jewish places, where the sense of ghetto
first came among us;
to Cannaregio, with its spaces half square and alley, its blanched days,
washing hung high between windows
like flags held up in surrender,
and a church as plain
as the people we are, a church for the few
who want the earth.

Another turn.
The lagoon to Murano
is laid out like sheet metal,
the islands welded to it;
the islands that didn’t quite make it, islands still islands,
without the balance,
the culture and the commerce
pirouetting on poles
rammed among mud and sand,
the stones of an empire that surged across oceans,
that drowned the world
and drew back
into style. Above you, seagulls unravel. The day fades. Another turn.

© John Foulcher



An abundance of summertime riches in new poetry from Emily Ballou


Musings during the morning commute in new poetry from Geoff Page


Religious transcendence in new poetry from Andrew Stuckgold


new poetry from Stephen Edgar


Rod Usher explores being and becoming