Issue Eight • Issue Eight Poetry • Poetry
December 1, 2019
By Anna Forsyth Someone slides open a drawer carefully her gloved hands steady from practice. Hector’s locked box was at the...
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By Devika Brendon Like a marmoset With those gripping fingers Surprising strength Stretched out full length Ears like a headset How...
By Jill Jones What remains of us at night The weight of respiration the insects we swallow the division of thought into chemical...
By Hélène Cardona. Good night, the mellifluous whisper catches me like a vine, wraps itself around my will. I stare at violet eyes,...
by Shona Blake I am a dark one And flow with the dark river The place of my beginning I came fast The river was in a hurry that day But my...
By Les Wicks I saw my UFO, 1969. Gurus, revolution. Racial & sexual equality stop the damned wars while we played with that...
By Liana Joy Christensen Previously published in Veils, Halos and Shackles: International Poetry on the Oppression and Empowerment...
By Drucilla Wall I know a thing or two about cats, and that scrawny black skeleton with dirty socks, curled in an empty flower pot...
By Debbie Lim Vampyroteuthis infernalis Literally, from hell. Belling the vast dark with a cape of rusted tentacles. Dante...
By Les Wicks Where I grew up there was respect for the uniform. No one ever killed in them. Armed with timetables the wise station...
By Jill Jones. Thursday was full moon more than silvery when clouds parted life is short days are long you...
By Owen Bullock As the night, as the Chapel when you thought it housed a ghost. As the hedge where he lurked to scare you. Where the...
By Marilyn Humbert where mist blurs men and trees a call sharp as a shard cracks the valley breaking morning rituals I listen...
By Daragh Byrne In memory of Des Byrne You would find him on a wet November Wednesday, sideways rain in New Abbey Filling the...
By J.W. Burns Like some animal you get tired of your skin, want to sink to the bottom and just push life through the mud. But...
By Angela T. Carr I am not born. Doctors gas my mother and she baulks. Trees creep in, snake the delivery room. She wanders out of...
By Sandra Renew the revolution of 1863 Singer sewing machines and Butterick/Mc Calls patterns collected in Lever arch files ...
By Owen Bullock Clarence and Marion. The steep path to the door. The view of a distant ocean and near clay tips. High tea spread to...
By Eamonn Wall Today through field glasses I observe one small flock of red-winged blackbirds busy about the Audubon Center, the...
By Drucilla Wall In summer the cattle graze the high patches made rich on limestone leaching into thin topsoil, rain generally...
By Eamonn Wall —the best teacher lives outside, the best teacher lives inside you, beating blood, breathing air, the best...
By Angela T. Carr Nest of pebbles on the doorstep – a pagan offering, the work of small hands – its matted grass walls,...
By Anthony Lawrence In a river that still reeks of decay, in a time before the weir divided fresh from salt among mangroves that...
By Anne Walsh Visible in the wild wreck I am is the empire I was. My ruin is the most beautiful architecture. Wreckage has made me...
By J.W. Burns hunched against the orange sky, a white horizon nibbling at his bowels. Far below, his sheep hungry, thirsty, horny to...
By Anthony Lawrence While the other boys were drawing their guns and falling into the ruins of an open pavilion of sky and pines, I...
By Hélène Cardona. when my soul turned round, perceiving the other-side of everything…...
by Peter Boyle. Saint Germain des près, St Martins in the Fields — what are so many churches doing in the meadows? Why are...
By Kristen de Kline, + we loved like demons our kisses, fresh and fugitive we snorted lines as Cave wrestled skeleton trees crooned...
By Bernadette Gallagher. He talked of grey, of blue, purple and all the possible pigments that make up grey. He talked of trees, of...
