“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

Head bangs, laughter and dancing. Live streaming Foo Fighters at the Roxy.

shared joy finds its way
virtual
sing-along

E. L. Blizzard