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Snail Tale, by Andrew Carter

25/6/2021

 
snails eat garlic patch

farmer finds a recipe

- escargot tonight

Sun Glasses, by Alex Andy Phuong

25/6/2021

 
Protective eyewear
Enjoying warm
Rays of sunlight.
Sipping from glasses.
As time passes by,
Sometimes being under
The sun
Is not always fun,
Especially if thunder
Comes barging in,
And yet,
Change is the only constant,
And never forget
To protect
And reflect
Upon finally seeing the light

Shooting Stars, by Marjan Sierhuis

25/6/2021

 
Shooting stars---
You light the night sky
I have another wish
So please come again

Cast-Away, by Adrian McRobb

25/6/2021

 
He got left behind in love
she never knew how he felt
he watched her relatives
gathering like crows
wheelchair by the window
sometimes she waved back
always thinking what might
talking to a cushion at night
for her companies sake
after she left him...finally
they often talked together
or, he fancied that they did
he stopped taking medication
wishing to follow her, unwilling
to live without her...

The Herebefore, by Alex Blaine

25/6/2021

 
I died yesterday
and nobody
noticed.
Sun no longer
sets
nor rises.

Groyne 8, Dawlish Warren, by Guy Fletcher

25/6/2021

 
Tourists flocked to Dawlish Warren
attracted by cafes and amusement arcades
yet we headed for quieter pastures
where few ventured, strolling along
a sandy path, opening wooden gates
next to sand dunes with the tide sweeping in.
The sea enticed us on this warm June day
as the sun broke through the clouds painted grey

creating stars in the turquoise ocean.
But as we began swimming
our screams could be heard in Exeter
with the shock of the perishing water.
Yet every second of the pain felt worthwhile
viewing your face so invigorated,
all our problems dissolved in the sea,
just for a while...our minds were set free.

I Wrote a Poem, by Mary Wallace

18/6/2021

 
I wrote a poem
Found phrases in lines by long remembered poets and long forgotten singers
I dug into history exploring sad and troubled times and rejected words that glorified war.
I cried for those needlessly lost.

I hoped while researching that men had changed
That lessons were learned
That politicians had mellowed
I wrote a poem, then I watched the news
Men haven't changed
New weapons are more deadly
And politicians still fuel the fires of war
I wrote a poem that makes me cry.

Phenomenal, by Michael Leach

18/6/2021

 
No one
saw her
wade up to
the water
-fall
& enter
the light
of a moon
-bow,
her
delicate
beauty aglow
like lead
-light.

Six Words for Success, by Alex Blaine

18/6/2021

 
Impossible
broken down
is
I'm possible

Eat Out Yer Heart, Descartes, by Gordon Lawrie

18/6/2021

 
Cogito plus toe
Ergo
Sum equals 4.

Eternally External and Internal, by Alex Andy Phuong

18/6/2021

 
See from the outside,
And also from deep within
The interior

Existence, by Kumar Vikrant

18/6/2021

 
The pitch blackness, absolute terror
The heart as heavy as a boulder
The bottom of the ocean, desolate
Not a soul to be seen, not a whale in sight

The boy freezes in the absolute cold
His heart frosty, almost rocklike
The repugnant odor of his dying flesh
The flagrant and overpowering stench of his dying thoughts

The loneliness crippling, the desolation absolute
The boy is a fish out of water
Gasping for breath, wriggling with pain
It’s as if there is no oxygen in the ether

In a flash, the ocean opens, the shimmering sun rays everywhere
The flesh restores, leisurely, taking its time
The hands embracing the boy are warm, tender, and delicate
Tears roll down his face, pellucid, a drop in the ocean

The Last Poem of Sylvia Plath, by Guy Fletcher

18/6/2021

 
Sylvia writes about her death
and of her little children too
although thankfully she ensured
gas did not leak into their bodies.
She comments on the indifference
of the moon because nature does not care
for us forlorn creatures and our despair.

I picture a resigned woman at her desk
still creating beautiful and poignant words
just days before her demise.
What inner turmoil she must have suffered
with her children too young to understand
the horrors lying in their mother's mind,
dying the only exit she could find.

An Application Poem, by Adrian McRobb

18/6/2021

 
The Tampon is a wily fish
that doesn't swim in water
not the sort of insertion
to use in Neptune's daughter

Like a shark it senses blood
but not in a water situation
no...it has more to do
with female menstruation

The Curse it comes monthly
our fish it swims upstream
some women have no problem
but others, just want to scream!

As a man, I can't imagine
walking with one inserted
especially if it doesn't fit
and on the pavement squirted...

Volte-Face, by Sterling Warner

11/6/2021

 
Perusing old love letters like
ancient, fragile Dead Sea Scrolls,

sans animal skin, sans papyrus,
my paramour’s script as elusive as

the Qumran Caves, our romance
an equivalent Judaean Desert where

dry air kept fervor's proclivities from
melting into an endless fluid tryst;

yes, yes, yes—your perfumed missives
added an ineffable essence to pages of

vulnerable self-revelation, confessions
revisited today—eyes misty, heart lonely;

words intended to be read by me alone;
I now want the world to mourn my loss.

Not So Sharp, by Andrew Carter

11/6/2021

 
a snail crawls unharmed

over sharpened sequiturs

to eat green pellets

Home, by Swati Moheet Agrawal

11/6/2021

 
Bent over the kitchen sink,
Maa is scrubbing utensils with a puritanical zeal.
I notice the mahogany linoleum warped from moisture
and ants darting up and down the counter.

In the living room, a lizard clings to the ceiling,
Maa chases it away with a broom.
​
I see termite trails growing like creepers over wooden cupboards
and mildew stained photographs sealed into albums,
lush green mounds of grapes and a delectable loaf on the dining table.

How I love my childhood home,
all my memories are rooted in these four walls after all!

Home is not where I rest my head at night
or fancy furniture or avant-garde décor,
home is the love I’m surrounded with, the warmth in my chest,
the guardians of my darkest thoughts, crippling fears and my deepest secrets.

The Pink Skip, by Guy Fletcher

11/6/2021

 
On the grass verge opposite
lies a pink skip with traffic cones
guarding as if to highlight
its transience. It resides
next to a red berry tree where birds sing.
The house is empty, the skip's open tomb
whispers to me about sadness and doom:

in its bowels are slippers
as withered as daffodils in May,
they will not be worn again.
There's a plethora of black plastic bags
and a mirror broken on impact,
the lost owner never again to stare
at a drink-ravaged face...etched with despair.

Top Spot, by Michael Leach

11/6/2021

 
Glenelg,

noon,

02/02/2020.

I

pull up

&

eye

a

redder

race car.

Privilege and Entitlement, by Alex Andy Phuong

11/6/2021

 
Principles involving
More than a combination
Of sense and sensibility,
For within modernity,
Privilege merely suggests
The supreme,
And no matter how hard
Life might seem,
Entitlement
Could actually
Distort society,
So practice humility,
And combine love
With humanity
To create a better
Reality

Clockwork Mice, by Adrian McRobb

11/6/2021

 
They scurry and skitter in places unknown
harassed and playful a dog with a bone
chewing and gnawing at anything tasty
carrying food in pouches but, not too hasty
whirring, unwinding a slow turning key
running and jumping in search of their tea
papers they like to soften their billet
yes...at a push, they'll even eat millit *
flashing around as they wind down
they lodge in the dark, under the ground...


*wartime bread diet

The Scent of Rainfall, by Michael Leach

4/6/2021

 
overdue rain drops
on dry soil & frees plant oils--
petrichor rises

Hay Fever, by Christyn Stergios

4/6/2021

 
My bella prima donna.
You pluck at my heart strings, Lily...

I've wasted daisies to find out if she loves me.
Attitude turned lackadaisical.
I know the truth about you now.
You're poison. I've cut the ivy you've spun around my eyes.
You were my rose. Does that make me the prick?
My goddess Venus-
flytrap. Men swarm. We're just snacks to you.
You chewed me up and spit me back out.
I guess I'm not a catch to you.
I'll miss the little things; the scent of you.
But you made your bed, now lay in it.
You're dead to me, Lily.

Atropa belladonna.
My deadly nightshade.

Parental Guidance Suggested, by Alex Andy Phuong

4/6/2021

 
The MPAA began censorship guidelines
After the release of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Nevertheless, cinema really is nothing more
Than Hollywood fantasy,
And within reality,
Some parents do try
Their very best
To provide guidance
So that their children
Could live independently,
And dance freely
As if no one
Watched them
Cope with hope
For not fearing
Virginia Woolf

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 2021, by Sankar Chatterjee

4/6/2021

 
It was the burning summer of 1921 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Even after Lincoln’s emancipation of slavery
Tulsa remained divided along the racial line.
Black citizens, working hard became prosperous
The “Black Wall Street” became city’s successful business zone.
Time was ripe for jealousy and anger for the city’s other race.

A rumor bomb was thrown into that flashing rage
Black Dick Rowland raped white Sarah Page.
Thus began the race-riot, burning businesses, and massacre.
Then the entire event miraculously vanished from nation’s consciousness.
The recent brutal murder of Mr. George Floyd
Resurrected the Tulsa-event back in spotlight, a century later.
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    Poetry

    This is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most.

    Poems submitted should be
    no longer than 160 words
    and contain
    no more than 16 lines.

    100 words remains the approximate target.

    Please submit using the Poetry Submissions Page.


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