By Thomas Page 268 A dying leaf, life In miniature; a mystery Play put on by trees. 269 A wolf howling at The moon is looking for some Other of its kind. 270 A child will not know The fruits thrown into the trash By his own parents. 271 A caterpillar Wishes to be a … Continue reading Haiku 268-278
“The Wise Child”
By Laura Potts I remember he fled from the fogdrop moors with the dawn and the bells of December beyond, calling morning to the streets while winter wept beneath the trees. A sleeping me before the door glowed on behind my mother’s knees. With holly-forest at his feet from leaping long the brawling leas, … Continue reading “The Wise Child”
Being
By Rajnish Mishra It's difficult to be what you are destined to be, more difficult to know what you are destined to be, and then to live, not reaching there, ever. Nothing comes for free. The world takes the fee of life. Sometimes it simply condemns you to live your death as you … Continue reading Being
“But then parts of you”
By Laura Potts But then parts of you are dead. I sent the world a postcard from a fusty window that said I am wearing my grief. Sling clothes into the bin: your socks, your skirts, the … Continue reading “But then parts of you”
“Sweet Autumn”
By Laura Potts And years later, you at the bus stop. Yesterday's leaves in your hair. The seat where we laughed. Our words in the air. Sweetheart. The years threaded up our names scratched on the glass. Rain argued away the grass-stained fingerprints, the love turned over on clumsy tongues, the moonbows, the flimsy … Continue reading “Sweet Autumn”
I’m eight
By Rajnish Mishra I‘m eight. Now, that I’ve seen eight, nine, I’m sure, will not be as fine as they write in those tales. Tales are just tales, I know, I’m eight. So, they talk to me, I listen, and nod, then I do what I want. I’ve seen when I … Continue reading I’m eight
“Whatever Brilliant Shade”
By Thomas Page Whatever brilliant shade that happens Upon a petal or blade inspires The mind’s eye to a world hued with the Intensity of everlasting springs That beget ever-knowing happiness. Nature preserved in Keats’ frieze, an urn Adorned with the ultimate perfection As gauged by an imperfect eye wishing For it to be so. … Continue reading “Whatever Brilliant Shade”
The Scent of Death
By Ahmad Al-khatat All writers smoke cigarettes and so I smoke cheap cigars All poets drink wine and cheese and so I drink vodka with nuts All dreamers talk about romance and so I talk about love in an erotic way All workers take a break from work and so I do not take a … Continue reading The Scent of Death
“Alma Mater”
By Laura Potts Widow-black and winter, evening took me south into lamps burning blue in the dusk. Out and over my hometown musk lay the hinterland hills breathing low in the dark. Still, frostspark sharp on the city streets, holy rain sweet in the winter and the wet, with no evening stars ahead I … Continue reading “Alma Mater”
I Tried To Stay Away
By Rajnish Mishra I tried to stay away, from poetry, write not in verse but prose. Four months I managed to stay cleansed of verse, four months exactly, not a day more, nor less. Then it happened, the form at least. I know now that I can’t choose it, it chooses me. … Continue reading I Tried To Stay Away
