Poetry

PALIMPSEST

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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MONKEY BUSINESS

By Devika Brendon   Like a marmoset With those gripping fingers Surprising strength Stretched out full length Ears like a headset How...

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What Sleep Is This?

By Jill Jones   What remains of us at night The weight of respiration the insects we swallow the division of thought into chemical...

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The Magician

By Hélène Cardona.   Good night, the mellifluous whisper catches me like a vine, wraps itself around my will. I stare at violet eyes,...

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We the Dark Ones


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...

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Flash

By Les Wicks   I saw my UFO, 1969. Gurus, revolution. Racial & sexual equality stop the damned wars while we played with that...

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The Netherlands

By Liana Joy Christensen   Previously published in Veils, Halos and Shackles: International Poetry on the Oppression and Empowerment...

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Cat Revelation

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...

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The Vampire Squid

By Debbie Lim   Vampyroteuthis infernalis   Literally, from hell. Belling the vast dark with a cape of rusted tentacles. Dante...

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Railway Town

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...

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As If The Large Magellanic Cloud Looks Over Us

By Jill Jones.   Thursday was full moon     more than silvery when clouds parted     life is short    days are long you...

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Animate and full of spirits

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...

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Whipbird

By Marilyn Humbert   where mist blurs men and trees a call sharp as a shard cracks the valley breaking morning rituals   I listen...

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An Undertaker’s Son

By Daragh Byrne   In memory of Des Byrne   You would find him on a wet November Wednesday, sideways rain in New Abbey Filling the...

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Barbouruia Kalimantanensis

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...

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Root

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...

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Revolution

By Sandra Renew   the revolution of 1863 Singer sewing machines and Butterick/Mc Calls patterns collected in Lever arch files  ...

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Brigadoon

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...

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RED-WINGED BLACKBIRDS

By Eamonn Wall   Today through field glasses I observe one small flock of red-winged blackbirds busy about the Audubon Center, the...

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Burren Wall

By Drucilla Wall   In summer the cattle graze the high patches made rich on limestone leaching into thin topsoil, rain generally...

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GRANDMOTHER: AFTER SCHOOL

By Eamonn Wall   —the best teacher lives outside, the best teacher lives inside you, beating blood, breathing air, the best...

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At the Heart of Every Stone, A Bird

By Angela T. Carr   Nest of pebbles on the doorstep – a pagan offering, the work of small hands – its matted grass walls,...

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Bull Sharks

By Anthony Lawrence   In a river that still reeks of decay, in a time before the weir divided fresh from salt among mangroves that...

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Intact

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...

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Moses

By J.W. Burns   hunched against the orange sky, a white horizon nibbling at his bowels. Far below, his sheep hungry, thirsty, horny to...

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The Divide

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...

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Pathways to Gifts

By Hélène Cardona.   when my soul turned round, perceiving the other-side of everything…...

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After Hieronymus Bosch, perhaps.

by Peter Boyle.   Saint Germain des près, St Martins in the Fields — what are so many churches doing in the meadows? Why are...

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Abercrombie Street

By Kristen de Kline,   + we loved like demons our kisses, fresh and fugitive we snorted lines as Cave wrestled skeleton trees crooned...

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The Colour Grey

By Bernadette Gallagher.   He talked of grey, of blue, purple and all the possible pigments that make up grey. He talked of trees, of...

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