Issue Six • Issue Six Poetry • Poetry
December 15, 2018
By Paul Casey stone turns to paper in her eye as she filters cycles of light into circles of paper stones her eye is a stone circle a...
Read More
by Paul Casey. 1. Just as the pillars meet a mile above the architrave A sky splinter plummets to puncture the floodplain A standing...
By Brian Jerrold Koester The deepest blue-burgundy you will ever see in stained glass, that is the colour of my love for you...
By Jane Clarke On the boat we were mostly virgins, we talked about who we were going to be – waitresses, seamstresses,...
By Sandra Renew 1933 lifelong partners charismatic lives no mention of the other in orbituary Stella was a...
By Nuala O’Connor Frida Kahlo likes to walk in colour, but she is hard-pushed on Society Street. We wander together up...
by Cynthia D. Nelson The Darmstadt Year I read out the sign at our new base: ...
by Anne Elvey baíte tipiche typical huts formaggio cheese taleggio ...
by Jenny Blackford The lumpy wrinkled flesh of some great ancient beast a woolly mammoth or elasmothere lies mummified beside the Hume...
by Patrick Stack A long way off Through fog that veils all else Faint voice is heard So faint no mortal ear Can catch the pitch Save...
By Natalie D-Napoleon First, a star must be formed; bodies colliding into hot bodies through infinite time and space...
By Denise O’Hagan We shrugged at bomb scares at school Locked our doors, watched our bags and our steps And skirted any lone bag...
by Fiona Perry A collection of mementoes to stimulate long term memory and a sense of identity in dementia patients. Inside:...
by Jenny Blackford Coventry Cathedral had been bombed, I knew, during the last great conflagration of the world, had lost some of its roof...
By Wendy J. Dunn When we arrived Another car was there Strangers at the Lookout We gathered together And gazed at the hills...
By Cheryl Pearson Quick to scuttle in with the cattle sick, or an ankle twisted fat on a root – the caps wring flat by...
June 8, 2018
By Michelle Cahill City of seven islands, guarded by eight-armed Mumbadevi, of the Dravidians, Marathis and Gujaratis, your name alludes to...
By Eileen Chong I Born a girl. By my father’s word, plate of ash untouched— Needle and silk: opaline peacocks, burning...
Issue Five • Issue Five Poetry • Poetry
By Chelsea Dingman I open the windows to the house—humid air like a deer’s breaths in the spring rain. Streetlights flit...
By Lizz Murphy From Aleppo – Rivers of blood women and children… viewed December 2016. From People smuggling – Turkey, Greece...
By Lizz Murphy I CAN TELL YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE I can tell you what it’s like ears and eyes out on stalks neck cricking...
By Moya Pacey His right hand grips the pen dips in and out of the ink-pot – marks the sheet of white paper bold with black...
By Ali Whitelock in the cafe with coffee cups for lampshades and the sign that says please do not pee in the sink we take an outside...
By Ramon Loyola Twenty years in the forest in the faces and breaths, not in the last century or in the now of times, my...
By Anita Patel How many borders will you cross to reach this land? How many doors will you close – forever? How many...
By Jenny Blackford Our handyman, friend of an old friend, was life support for many years to our decaying inner-city house. One day,...
By Jenny Blackford The flowers in the garden of the inner-city Muslim school are kangaroo paws just like mine at home- ...
By Sandra Renew she still remembers the brass teapot trampled under soldiers’ boots but then retrieved dusted off and...
By Nessa O’Mahony His regular spot; curled foetus-tight, back to the wall at the end of the canal, near the bridge at Baggot...
By Ellen Shelley On an ordinary day the water stills the air waves fall silent birds on parachute wings spiral to gorund...
