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
“The Night That Robin Died”
By Laura Potts I remember it best as burnt lips and black that night when the mouth of the house spat you and your terminal news out to the stars and back. Before the last evening hours had passed, flame yielding life to the ember, the crack of your ash called a duskdark September … Continue reading “The Night That Robin Died”
Museum of Corpses
By Ahmad Al-khatat Inside museum of corpses there are dead refugees bodies who died ’cause they were not characters, but priceless, experiments That helped humankind, with plastic surgery, they test dangers And feature The weapons Of flesh and blood, crash test dummies, design body armour against the aliens from the spaceship and women, private body … Continue reading Museum of Corpses
The Rainbow Who Saved My Life
By Ahmad Al-Khatat The last rainbow that appeared, recognized me from my eyes he told me that I survived the war and that he saved my life he said that back in my homeland he can’t be seen when he appears, instead he helps the angels to paint by Marking the children with my colours … Continue reading The Rainbow Who Saved My Life
“A grass widower/lover writes”
By Sunil Sharma Even in your long absence--- I hear daily your musical voice! The multi-coloured jingle of the bangles And the silver anklets Your laughter lingers On summer nights. I smell the perfume you wear To your work daily. As I drift finally Into the land of beautiful gentle sleep After a long … Continue reading “A grass widower/lover writes”
What’s the harm?
By Rajnish Mishra My mobile’s memory stores details, but it’s old. It’s not smart, my mobile, and old. I don’t delete some numbers. They’re dead, I’ve been told. Not the numbers. I thought to call, once at least, at least one of them, then I did not call. What if I … Continue reading What’s the harm?
