The six poems nominated by The Broken Spine for the Pushcart Prize showcase an unwavering dedication to poetry that probes the depths of identity, memory, connection, and survival. We believe that poetry should unsettle. It should strip us bare, peel back the layers we hide behind, and force us to confront the raw, tangled mess of what it means to be alive. The Broken Spine thrives in this space of discomfort and discovery, elevating voices that refuse to conform or compromise. These poems do not whisper; they roar, demand, provoke, and soothe in equal measure. They are jagged and tender, restless and unrelenting, capturing the beauty and brutality of being human. In this year’s Pushcart Prize nominations, The Broken Spine offers six searing works that embody our mission: poetry that doesn’t just leave an impression but carves itself into the very marrow of its readers.
Mullen’s “Vinyl Redux” is a sprawling love letter to music and its transformative, chaotic power. The poem’s fragmented style mirrors the uneven grooves of a vinyl record, immersing the reader in a world where cultural critique and personal memory collide.
Lines like “The indestructible beat / upon dancing feet / as tear-stained pear-drop minds / return to mono” capture music’s ability to transcend time, becoming both an emotional anchor and a force of unity. The “tear-stained pear-drop minds” point to the bittersweet nostalgia music evokes, while “return to mono” gestures towards a yearning for simplicity in a world overwhelmed by noise.
Through allusions to everything from Mingus to Arcade Fire, Mullen threads together an encyclopaedic tapestry of soundscapes. Each reference acts as a tonal layer, reflecting music’s role as a cultural and personal artefact. The poem’s energy is relentless, a celebration of music’s enduring ability to both heal and unsettle.
Heuschen’s “Move Closer” is a nostalgic and tender snapshot of young love, set against the backdrop of 1980s pop culture. The poem captures the heady mix of anticipation and vulnerability that defines first crushes.
The speaker, styled as “more Molly Ringwald than Madonna,” sets the stage with a youthful exuberance that feels timeless. The sensory details—“a final slick of fruity Body Shop lip gloss, / a tug at my black Dotty P dress”—pull the reader into a vividly textured moment.
When the speaker’s crush approaches, the intimacy of “oh, his hands / where my dress scoops low at the back” creates a poignant tension between external coolness and internal chaos. This interplay is heightened by the musical anchor of Phyllis Nelson’s Move Closer, whose lyrics seem to direct the scene itself.
By the end, as the boy returns to “penalties and offside traps,” the speaker is swept into the post-event analysis with her friends, an orbit of shared yet individual experiences. The poem deftly captures the fleeting, bittersweet nature of adolescent moments that feel monumental in their transience.
Karcher’s poem is a dynamic exploration of imagination, community, and the layered identities of Buffalo. From the opening encounter with a stranger obsessed with Bills Mafia, the poem navigates a series of vignettes that oscillate between humour and profundity.
The titular “special goggles” symbolize perception—how we see and shape our world. At one point, the speaker reflects: “I feel like I still live my life this way, riding the wave of my imagination in a city that is either small or big depending on how you look at it.” This idea of Buffalo as a mutable, living entity underscores the poem’s themes of belonging and transformation.
Moments of levity—“A Bengals couple heads into the men’s bathroom together”—are balanced with poignant reflections, like the discovery of a snow-drawn love letter on the speaker’s car: “You are loved” & “in love.” These juxtapositions reflect the messy, beautiful complexity of urban life and human connection.
Ultimately, Karcher’s poem is a love letter to imagination and place, celebrating the ways we navigate our cities and ourselves with wonder and resilience.
Griffiths’ “Hors D’oeuvres” is a meticulous portrait of the subtle tensions and joys of a first date. The poem’s language, like the moment it describes, is precise yet bursting with potential energy.
From “palm to forearm” to “vegan ice cream to theories of change,” the tactile and conversational elements of the date are rendered with an intimacy that feels both tentative and electric. The metaphor of cooking—“Set a whisk to work, the friction of heat / and air leaving us both almost fit to explode”—captures the unspoken chemistry simmering beneath the surface.
The concluding image, “as between us there’s egg white / ready to fold,” encapsulates the fragility and hope of nascent connection. Griffiths captures the essence of the moment with a restraint that mirrors the emotions of the poem’s subjects.
“Hymn” is a lyrical meditation on grief and resilience, rendered in language that blends the personal with the mythic. McCullagh’s use of archaic phrases—“kappit hansel” and “dwined”—roots the poem in a folkloric tradition, creating a sense of timelessness that contrasts with its raw emotional core.
The blackbird, described as “lacquered jet,” becomes a central symbol, embodying both beauty and the weight of memory. The speaker’s craving for the bird’s song—“reckless song-squander; by storms unconstrained”—evokes a yearning for joy unburdened by loss.
Yet, even in the face of grief, the poem offers a defiant hope: “When gravity claims us from watered air, / we’ll sing loudest, be all the hope we dare.” McCullagh masterfully balances the fragility of mourning with the strength of survival, creating a hymn that resonates long after the final line.
Short’s post-apocalyptic monologue is a raw and haunting exploration of survival, guilt, and the human psyche. The stark opening—“The world ended / and here I am / trapped with my thoughts”—immediately plunges the reader into a desolate, unrelenting landscape.
The imagery of “ashen shadows clinging to bleach-burnt concrete walls” paints a vivid picture of a world stripped of colour and life. The speaker’s guilt—“holding onto breath / like I held onto grudges”—adds an emotional weight that mirrors the physical devastation around them.
Yet the poem is not without hope. The act of planting a chestnut tree in the speaker’s “aching heart” becomes a gesture of defiance, a way to create something lasting in a world defined by loss. The tree’s leaves and fruit—“I hope her leaves protect you. / I hope her fruit nourishes you”—serve as both a legacy and a lifeline, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
The six nominated poems from The Broken Spine exemplify the fearless, transformative potential of contemporary poetry. From Mullen’s fractured ode to music in “Vinyl Redux” to McCullagh’s lyrical resilience in “Hymn” and Karcher’s imaginative celebration of Buffalo in “You Can’t Have Special Goggles in the Wrong Hands,” each poem challenges the reader to see the world anew.
These are works that matter—poems that linger, demand reflection, and leave the reader changed.
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The Broken Spine is a poetry and arts collective proudly published on the coastal edge of North-West England. Founded in 2019 by Alan Parry and Paul Robert Mullen – two school friends reunited after twenty years through a mutual love of poetry.
