His was always a complete circle, difficult to remove. The cup of unfinished coffee would lay on the table for hours. He would place his cup on the exact same spot. There is a permanent stain on the unpolished wood table out on the porch.
spring breeze–
all the wildflowers
on his grave
Mona Bedi
Look! Look! Seeing does not lighten the burden of changes with which light redefines the musculature of envisioned hills and valleys on this side of the Eastern horizon. A pen scratches away that which is not bone from the remaining two dimensions.
a momentary less of now
Stephen Bailey
Hear that? It is time running out. From lily pad to lily pad it side-skips the reflections on life lived in darkness.
just words blindly sifting silences through an hourglass
Stephen Bailey
A time will come in your life when you too will feel like a prisoner. It may be love keeping you boxed in or hate sucking out the air around you. It may be illness clipping your wings, or simply the weight of years … no matter.
Bach cantatas…
unpicking stitches from
the kneeler
Stella Pierides
Shelling a nuclear plant is never a good idea.
Zaporizhzhia—
now you see us
now you don’t
Stella Pierides
The Luitpold Bridge in Munich is closed. Climate activists have glued themselves to the road disrupting traffic. They are not afraid of a jail sentence, they say. Part of me yearns to be there with them. Making statements, taking action. Instead, I follow signs for an alternative route, like so many ahead of me, and so many behind. Our long, slow-moving queue snakes around our principles.
on the radio…
instructions for instant
gratification
Stella Pierides
My twin brother was absorbed into my all female left eyeball in the womb, leaving me with a lazy eye and urges to look up little girl’s skirts, unsuccessfully.
handicapped button
the three blind mice
write their memoirs
Pris Campbell
Martin was sitting in an ante-room waiting to be called for interview for summer work with the rail and road transport system in Ireland. It was easy to get temporary work there.
– Come in, groaned a voice from the interview room.
Martin went in. A lowly official was putting his socks back on, having cut his toe nails.
– So you’re looking for summer work?
– Yes, I’m in my third year in college.
– Third year. How many years have you to do?
– Four.
– Four? And what are you studying?
– English, Philosophy and Psychology.
– I don’t know what kind of a job you’ll get out of that?
Neither did Martin.
tea bags
stuck to the ceiling
like bats
Gerry McDonnell
No one immune. Floods. Wildfires. So what would she do if …? Motheaten teddy bear? Priceless vase? She glances again at the middle distance. Light to carry. Something she will always take with her.
flat concrete surface
of the disused office block
gulls in the sunrise
Note: title taken from Shakespeare’s sonnet 10
.
Diana Webb
AKA a souped-up spaghetti hoop.
dog moon
the last bus
gone
Helen Buckingham
the other bunny 