After 10 issues, over 200 poems published – with five featured in Best British Poetry anthologies and numerous finding their way into poets’ collections – working with some of the best poets writing today, the editors have decided to close Poems in Which.

We’re proud to have had over 30,000 readers visit Poems in Which from over 60 countries. We are also proud to have been an advocate for making poems published in online magazines eligible for more major poetry competitions. The website will stay open for the next year and then, after that, the magazine will be available through the Web Archive at the British Library.

Thank you to everyone who has read Poems in Which, thank you to everyone who has submitted work and our thanks go out especially to those who agreed to publish with us (the full contributor list is below – look at those names!).

With all our love,

Amy, Rebecca, Wayne and Alex

 

Abigail Parry

Agnes Marton

Alanna McArdle

Alex Bell

Alexander Booth

Alexander Speaker

Alison Winch

Amy Blakemore

Andrea Quinlan

Andrew McMillan

Angela Kirby

Angela Readman

Anna Selby

Annie Katchinska

Anthony Adler

Aria Aber

Barbara Barnes

Ben Stainton

Bobby Parker

Camellia Stafford

Charlotte Chappel

charlotte Geater

Chloe Stopa-Hunt

Chrissy Williams

Claire Trevien

Claudine Toutoungi

Clyde Kessler

Cowan Montague

Crispin Best

Dai George

Daisy Behagg

Daisy Lafarge

Dan Barrow

Declan Ryan

Dollie Stephan

Eireann Lorsung

Ella Frears

Emily Hasler

Emily Toder

Emma Hammond

Emma Jeremy

Erik Kennedy

Fiona Moore

Fran Lock

Francine Elena

Gence Barber

Giles Goodland

Graeme Bezanson

Harry Giles

Harry Man

Holly Hopkins

Holly Isemonger

Ian Cartland

Irit Sela

Isobel Dixon

Jack Nicholls

Jake Brukhman

Jane Yeh

Jeff Hilson

Jen Campbell

Jenna Clake

Jennifer L. Knox

Jérome Poirier

Jerrold Bowam

Jessica Schouela

Jody Porter

Joe Dunthorne

Joe Turrent

Joey Connolly

John Canfield

John Clegg

John McCullough

Jon Stone

Josephine Corcoran

JT Welsch

Judy Brown

Julia Bird

Karl Smith

Kate Potts

Kate Wise

Kathryn Maris

Katrina Naomi

Katy Evans-Bush

Kieran Ryan

Kirsten Irving

Laura Webb

Lauren Vevers

Leah Umansky

Lisa Kelly

Lorraine Mariner

Lucy Mercer

Luke Kennard

Marcus Slease

Marek Kazmierski

Maria Taylor

Markie Burnhope

Mark Waldron

Martha Sprackland

Matt Haigh

Matthew Welton

Megan Watkins

Melissa Lee-Houghton

Michael Naughten-Shanks

Michael Preece

Natalie Chin

Natalya Anderson

Nicola Gledhill

Nisha Bhakoo

Paul McGrane

Paul Stephenson

Pearl Pirie

Peter Daniels

Petra Kamula

Prudence Chamberlain

R.A. Villanueva

Rachel Long

Rachel Piercey

Rebecca Goss

Rebecca Tamas

Rebecca Varley-Winter

Rhian Allen Douglas

Richard Barrett

Rishi Dastidar

Roddy Lumsden

Rosie Breese

Roy Marshall

Sampurna Chattarji

Samuel Prince

Sara Peters

Sarah Crewe

Sarah Franciose

Sarah Jean Alexander

Sarah Wedderburn

Scherezade Siobhan

Shelia Hamilton

Siegfried Barber

Simon Barraclough

Siofra McSherry

SJ Fowler

Sophie Collins

Sophie Herxheimer

Sophie Mayer

Stacey Teague

Stephen Connolly

Stevie Ronnie

Tania Hershman

Tim Wells

W.N. Herbert

Wioletta Grzegorzewska

On this / The last morning I’d wake up / With my original body / I put on all my plastic jewelry / I stood by the window / I ate a banana covered in peanut butter / I bled through two pairs of underwear and into my jeans / I texted six people / Begging each of them to fuck me / While I still had / This body / When I started to move / I passed many filthy / Children alone / I received no texts back / I was racing though the Town / I was trying to incite / I was trying to provoke / The same way I repeat / Over and over / The actions that make me sick / I have dug down into myself and found / Nothing / I have lurched my way across this Town to the water and found / Nothing / I stopped eating / I stopped drinking / I wore a steel breastplate / How quickly I became intolerable / Even to myself / I was not permitted to have / The remains of the fetus / Scraped out of me / I was told to pass it / Naturally  / I will leave this old body behind / I will reach the Oracle / I will not ask for a prediction / I will ask to perform an exchange / My old body for a new body / A new body poreless / Impermeable / Unetched / By even / The mark of its maker / I have behaved grossly  / I cannot wait to die / Yes I know this will be  / No real death / From miles away still / The Oracle says / Keep moving / You have seen my face / Before / It has made as little impression on you / As the face of the woman you pay for stamps / The face of the woman you pay for magazines / The face of the woman / To whom you hand a parking receipt / The face of the deaf woman / Who roams the library / Asking you to buy / Her homemade greeting cards / I am panting / I am climbing / The mountain at the center of the Town / The Oracle will be found at its summit / My mouth is full of my own dust / Lines from my own poems / Rise unbidden in my mind / Humiliating me / Making me laugh too / Neon roadside flowers / Tiny stars of chamomile / Moving faster now / Rocks in my sandals / Dust on my contact lenses / Circled by deerflies / Thus far unbitten / The hate I harbor /  In my limbs / My organs / The hate I harbor /  In my eyes / My mouth / The hope of women / Is murder / One man is following me / Could be coincidence / Two men are following me / Oink oink / They say  /  I move through the fair / Wind coming over / Rain coming down / Day of radiance / Beep beep! / Says a tourist in a white duck hat / Moving past me / I recall / The food processor at my restaurant job / Feeding peeled carrots into it / Whole / And finally / When I pass a woman vomiting on the trail / I do not wait for the other pilgrims / To recognize her as the Oracle / And plant a thicket of crutches around her / I pause and cup her tattooed skull / I brush the pollen from her shoulders / I pick a caterpillar off her neck / I scatter the coins of my eyes at her feet

Sara Peters

I love attics because it’s the closest you can get
to being backstage in your own life.
The change of air between the mortal world and this:

I love the stuffy attic and the cool.
I would rather take a tour of attics than a holiday.
O vinyl, boardgames, war chests, sepia;

O trauma, obsolescence, broken things.
Standing in the wings I look for some
foreshadowing of you: a photograph of us

before we met on opposite sides of a park;
your initials in two lost Scrabble tiles.
If you dream of an attic it means there is an afterlife;

if you dream of a basement, there is not.
Where does that go after a loft conversion?
We experience over seven million thoughts a day.

My neighbour is a ballet dancer who maintains
he can always tell when someone has a secret:
the brain is visibly, manifestly overstuffed.

They have a 4th bedroom and en suite.
Where do you put everything
you simply don’t know what to do with?

Luke Kennard