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Eye Shadow, by Michael Leach

26/8/2022

 
amidst purple, grey
eyes match her hair & mirror
the smile on pink lips

Bloodmonger, by Mimi Grouse

26/8/2022

 
You're tasting someone else's death
as you bite down
on pain and blood not quite dried
by cooking,

And you grind life's final scream
before you drown
someone else's agony in alcohol.
Get drunk

Stay drunk. You know what you have done.
Abetting murder

just for fun.

Who Remembers Beryl Burton? by Guy Fletcher

26/8/2022

 
Picture
A Yorkshire lass called Beryl Burton
cycled not for money but love of the sport
earning nothing from all those gruelling miles
yet winning 90 British and 7 world titles.
She held a full-time job
working at a rhubarb farm
but cycling should have brought her a great fame
and yet today few remember her name.

As a child she was diagnosed
with an irregular heart beat
and advised never to exercise.
At the young age of 58
she died from heart failure on her bike,
perhaps how she would have wanted to leave.
Yes, cycling should have brought her a great fame
yet today...few remember her name.

Michael’s Mischief, by Sterling Warner

26/8/2022

 
Pluck a tail feather here and there
use each plume to write a poem
record fantastical battles on high
where good and bad angel wings
flutter with similar momentum,
Gabriel blows horns & azure skies darken
exploding in lightning’s brazen bolts;
it’s been so long since religious training
I’ve forgotten Genesis & which creation myth
detailed divisions between fiery ones,
cherubim, archangels, or morning stars…,
blind evolution in a state of grace,
recalling beatific pinions clashing—angelic
violence humans have aped for millennia.

Seated By Linet "Toto", by Jeremy Leariwala

25/8/2022

 
“Ask & you shall be given,” the man started saying.
“Try and you shall win,” he went on. “Because...
“By trying, you learn and you wizen-up!

“A thousand miles’ journey starts with a step.
Kudos Chepkorir-for courageously saying, “I CAN,”
And kudos for boldly walking a desolate path.

“May you be a shining star, up in the sky!
May your subjects rejoice in your shadows;
And may generations to come, get inspired by you!

“We wish you well, wholesomely, my dear.
We pray that you find a shackle-less-mentor;
Your Shepherd and guide through ‘that den’ to its end.

“‘Hongera Mhesh Linet!’ as you rattle that hornets’ nest,
As you fearlessly shake it up, a lill! And Hongera...
As you awaken all the slumbering Young Adults!”

“Amen!” I muttered, watching him walk away.

Addendum, by David Dumouriez

19/8/2022

 
He who can, does;
He who cannot, teaches.
He who cannot teach ...
Still teaches.
​


​As a former teacher, I've claimed the right to add something to this – ed.

Post Scriptum, by Gordon Lawrie

He who can, writes;
He who cannot, edits.
He who can neither write nor edit
Criticises.

I Still Love, by Jeremy Leariwala

19/8/2022

 
As old as I am,
at this time and era,
i still look up-skywards!

As young as I am,
at this age and time,
i still rejoice and hope!

As free as I am,
at this liberal; free-space,
i still write and rhyme!

As moonlit as tonight,
at this hour and power,
i still love and behold us!

As peaceful as now,
at this place and location,
i still trust and cherish Moonshine!

Sunflowers by Rhossili Bay, by Guy Fletcher

19/8/2022

 
Picture
The young woman stands and smiles
in a sunflower heart-shaped arch.
The flowers all peer towards the east
and behind lie the glorious cliffs
of Worm's Head on the Atlantic ocean
and for once there is joy etched on her face
because gloom doesn't belong in this place

on a somnolent sunny August day
sunflowers in the field swaying in the breeze,
a little piece of Nirvana.
But all beauty is transient,
they'll wither, but not just yet
and all her troubles melt like morning dew
feeling overwhelmed by the gorgeous view.

Fracking, by Liz O’Shea

19/8/2022

 
Oh goodly planet earth
What are we humans lacking
Of what is there such a dearth
That we just keep on fracking.
We bite into your crust
With our eternal lust
Searching for ever more power
To wastefully devour
Your precious life giving resource
All destroyed without remorse
There's always hope we'll see the light
Meanwhile forgive us for our short sight.

A Dream Was Dreaming Herself, by Rashna Walton

19/8/2022

 
A dream was dreaming herself
right beside me on the pillow

It lay next to my head
as a cube of colours
cross sectioned but not cut
laid bare though not hurting

So intensely stained by saffron and amber was she,
that in that moment, i knew i knew everything

Alongside my sleeping head
the dream ran soundlessly on
and from these ordinary scenes came
answers to problems long held, and solutions found

And thus assured that i had found my place
within this twisting, turning fractal world
in preparation i began to pack
tea-chests, filling them with coloured crockery.

    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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