Issue Two • Poetry
September 5, 2016
By Wendy Dunn Can poetry die When words mark meaning On a page? No Not simply mark But explode Into architecture Imaginary gardens...
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By Vashti Farrer On the corner stood a house. Unloved, its weathered weatherboard. But now a wire fence surrounds the lot. No planks...
By Clare Millar 416,809 enlisted 156,000 wounded, gassed, taken prisoner 62,000 killed Preheat a war. Line countries with armies....
By Margaret Marchant Once tall proud men Remembering those who went before them Marching for those who cannot and those left behind...
Issue One • Issues • Poetry
May 23, 2016
By MA Fox White columns reach towards the heavens under the moon’s rays. The gods are now home sitting in judgement...
By MA Fox Spring looms. Flora, Rome’s goddess, flowers as her crown, heralds the cycle of rebirth. Image by Roksolana...
Issue One • Poetry
By Wendy J Dunn My lover brought me a poesy yesterday morn alone in the meadow alive with spring Ragged robin, vetch, golden...
By MA Fox Hail to thee, Diana, Goddess over all that is steeped in darkness, Sacred keeper of the moon. By the silver light...
By Wendy J Dunn A child bleeds. Head broken Wound open Torso pocked by gunfire. He cries Terrified “Where’s my father?...
By Duncan Richardson The officer in charge of the firing squad knows he was the one who killed the Ceausescu’s because his...
By Duncan Richardson When the great Khan died legend tells they buried him on the plain and gathered a swarm of horses ...
By Duncan Richardson England – February 1963 The worst winter in memory pipes and birds were freezing heaters gave up...
By Duncan Richardson Suleyman the Magnificent* twice bereaved found solace in poetry for a while then war dying in the field on his...
By Duncan Richardson Eager pilgrims seek out the Great Philosopher 1898 Let us go and see Herr Nietzsche sitting by the...
May 22, 2016
By Eloise Faichney i. Witch Am I to spend my days locked in the longing of my namesake? I am a ghost of knife and...
By Eloise Faichney Your walking-hut1, witchmother, hides in the forest of the Tsar. You; ambiguity personified with bony legs and...
By Eloise Faichney You still do not understand what I have seen, Padre. These rosaries will not save us now, nor these prayers; we...
By Christina Aitken Spots of crimson dance in the breeze Below, the swollen, shuddering sea bears hopeful young men to war Standing in rows...
