by Erin Mullens
I fling back my elegant neck, sipping flowery rosé
As the jewel encrusted birds flutter about the glamour
Resting precariously on the edge of my shoulder.
Every word is a golden lie, a bit of thread I twist
Hard, to weave together a beautiful tapestry.
If I just look like a rainbow on a green hill
They won’t see the demons fighting in the palm of my hand.
Under the table, my legs shake and my ankle bounces
I am terrified that someone will see through my illusion.
(After T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”)
by R. S.
April is the cruellest month,
Harbinger of hope, summer’s prelude;
Springing daisies, springing lilacs,
At best a fleeting interlude.
by Christian Ward
Every shell is dipped in night.
Place an ear against the ceramic
to eavesdrop on fox squabbles,
crows watching rubbish bags
left split open like unfinished
operations, brambles unfurling
their fruit. Humans, extras
with no dialogue. Open every
shell to reveal day – the glazed
pottery, a perfect sky. Of course,
there’s the meat: An orange muscle
on a ready-made plate. Quiet,
contemplative. I threw up the sea
the first time I tried it. Didn’t know I was chewing its prayer.
by Ivona Bozik
I almost forgot the warmth of the September sun, its gentle rays that stopped burning our skin some time after the last heat wave (now, I’m sitting here, sunbathing with the usual lateness, offering up my outside to its caress).
Read More »by PJ Carmichael
Read More »On the way home, a bite to eat and songs
to fill the air, our voices in unison
as the journey continues.
by Christian Ward
I’ll say rain, you’ll shout hail
I’ll bellow thunder, you’ll scream lightning
I’ll sing sunshine, you’ll hum clouds
I’ll chant breeze, you’ll repeat gales
I’ll whisper snow, you’ll return blizzard.
by Erin Mullens
I draw maps on the wall. Maps to nowhere.
Little burned charcoal sticks I pick up
From the remains of the fireplace, scrawling
On the edges of the stone floor underneath
My bed. I slip my body under there, so tiny
And pretend I don’t even exist in the world.
I am not here I am not a person I am not real
And I draw a little map to find a way to another world.
I’ll open a portal under my bed. I’ll escape.
by Shamik Banerjee
Soon we will, escape my love!
We shall run beneath the cloud and moon,
then few steps of the dale above,
is waiting our new afternoon.
Read More »by Ruchi Acharya
Lavender never dies just remember
The frozen black coffee
still lies on the table
for I was waiting for you to say first forever.
by Ruchi Acharya
My pupils dilated as the Antarctica cries
as the sunshine radiates
the velvet and white fur
of a forever sleeping Polar bear
with childlike melting eyes.
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