The purr at the back door announces the delivery of another mouse.
cold sunrise
the saucer of milk
empty again
Bob Lucky
The purr at the back door announces the delivery of another mouse.
cold sunrise
the saucer of milk
empty again
Bob Lucky
All the roads mistaken brought me here.
Bob Lucky
“I’m tired,” my brother says. “The kind of tired you can’t sleep off.”
“Me too,” I say. “It’s been a long life. I could sleep for a week.”
new snow
cleansing the palette
between courses
Peter Newton
I hear Iceland’s having a sale on icebergs. The eco-tourists arrive in droves carbon footprinting what’s left of the snow.
polar bears
in figurine size
blood moon
Peter Newton
The light in the room is dim and gray. It is an overspill from the drizzle outside the window. For a time I am in and of the wider world.
a moment
to be consumed by
no longer being
Hansha Teki
…and she again calls me by my sister’s name…
dementia
the wait for the
genetics to kick in
Mona Bedi
I am a child. My first identity. My long and lingering identity.
longest day
permission to stay up
to watch the sunset
Diana Webb
The carousel’s saddled horses go no slower than its zebras.
the
unicorn
in real
life gets
away
Joseph Salvatore Aversano
Those were the days, when zoom was the noise made by my sister’s Scalextric, while the rest of us huddled for warmth around a single blizzarding screen.
floods all around nostalgic for snow
Helen Buckingham
A skirt of syllables. A wing of words. And how does it feel to be touched by stars ?
swirled in cloaks of mist
shaking out a web of droplets
Vaudeville dancer
Diana Webb
You must be logged in to post a comment.