Imbued with a tincture the air of a bleak midwinter. Dark boughs etch a horizon where dark birds flit like filings of iron..
horseshoe magnet
the rainbow a mirror
of shooting stars caught
Diana Webb
Imbued with a tincture the air of a bleak midwinter. Dark boughs etch a horizon where dark birds flit like filings of iron..
horseshoe magnet
the rainbow a mirror
of shooting stars caught
Diana Webb
Long story short I can’t play chess because I think a draw is a win. I don’t care that I can’t win, only that you can’t.
c(rook)ed moon dangling gerunds
Susan Burch
This scorching heat is unbearable. I can’t sleep and I can’t speak. The only things I can say are “yes”, “no” or “yes, of course”, “not at all”… Ah! And “okay”… okay…
annoying fly
there’s no reason
to write a haiku
Andrea Cecon
It swoops down and then again soars. It nearly touches the clouds. She remains seated in her wheelchair just observing the eagle.
war moon
taking the broken road
back home
Mona Bedi
With a pencil and an X we avoid treasure islands, slip out of a bureaucrat’s non-essential attire, and skid out of a booth.
new boundaries
the elephant in the room
is farting
Alan Summers
The train connections decide to switch things up. A man of indeterminate age removes his seat, declares undying love in the most common travelling language. Luggage bunches up.
Euston Station—
a sandwich filling
minds the gap
Alan Summers
There is no middle path for a middle class. Either you choose the left or the right.
a political storm brewing in the corner tea shop
R. Suresh Babu
To deal with an entity that had persecuted them as children.
licorice caramels
and caoutchouc scattered
everywhere
Barbara Anna Gaiardoni
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
Shelling a nuclear plant is never a good idea.
Zaporizhzhia—
now you see us
now you don’t
Stella Pierides