David Subacchi


It’s been a while since I was here
Since I was really here
As opposed to just popping in
For something to help
With my homework
Or to enhance an essay
For college submissions
I think it may take some time

It’s noisier now
Someone reading stories
To cross legged listeners
Others tapping keyboards
Connected to headphones
The regular interruption of ring tones
There is a lot of technology
Humming in the background

But that strange numbering system
Still remains. I never understood it
And still take books from the shelves
Failing to return them
To their proper places
The sighing librarian follows
Restoring each volume
To its correct position
I feel I have come home

Every newspaper and magazine
Is available here
And they are no longer secured
To wooden poles for security
The hard straight backed chairs
Have been replaced
With more comfortable seats
I could almost fall asleep

And my familiar companions
Remain with their carrier bags
Stuffed with mysterious items
Only their faces are different
Though the conversation
Is as bizarre as ever
Looking around
The well-stocked bookshelves
I wonder how long it will be
Before I once again blend in
And become invisible.

Copyright © David Subacchi 2015

David lives North Wales and is now a full time writer and poet. He is of Italian origin and also writes in Welsh. Cestrian Press has published two collections of his English poetry ‘First Cut’ (2012) and ‘Hiding in Shadows’ (2014).

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Ruth Aylett


The flock knows this land,
where among the rocks
the new grass  comes first,
how to find the lee in a blizzard;

The hand knows this oval shape,
smoothed by sea and wind,
heavy in the palm, from a beach
so hot it scorched the flesh.

The body knows this lay of
a new baby into the crook
of the neck, the weight of
her uncertain wobbling head.

And we together know
the in and out
of passing years
without thinking, without words.

Copyright © Ruth Aylett  2015

Theory is grey my friend but green, green is the tree of life

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Suzanne Iuppa

from Solva                                                                 

Clouds needle us with rain. Our faces
wet with heave and hurt up steps, into views
our ancestors kissed. Then they set off
on long ferries. Tirah, Lorenzo! Tirah, Myfanwy!
How many miles did their sold wordly goods get them?

Nothing short of a generational miracle
finding treasure they left; faithful cliffs we share with
chough and kittiwake. So, the birds won’t mind us
pinching a few blackberries, licking the juice from our fingers.
Our shining eyes marry the adjoining hayfields.

Copyright © Suzanne Iuppa 2015

Suzanne Iuppa is a poet, community worker, and filmmaker. She loves nature, people and food; and has recently been writing poems and making films about healing wells in Wales.

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Ian C Smith

Beyond the Lights of Town

Far off, a motorbike races the night,
inside, a soft thump like a cat disturbed.
This neglected house creaks, an ark riding a flood.
I become aware of a vague rumbling,
electronic, freezer or, yes, hot-water service.
I seek sleep, not attic noises, nor memories
of late nights’ glittery malfeasance,
waking to days yawning with promise of more.

Now rain, a cow bawls across the gully
in the direction of the old school bus road
traversed in boots and shin guards on dank afternoons
through fierce blackberries, around sinkholes,
under and over fallen trees where I spot
fox, hare, eagle, rabbit, the battleground crow,
sometimes hearing laughter from open windows
of that bus in full view of this house then.

They would also have seen a cobbler’s shop
and a butcher’s, with the post-office here,
this last building, now of books, night reveries,
in a time when the view from that bus
was not of what really lay ahead, a secret
to which no-one is privy, a mercy.
I’m done with drama, with travelling on,
but staying put evokes toying ghosts of memory.

Copyright © Ian C Smith 2015

Ian C Smith’s work has appeared in , Australian Poetry Journal,  New Contrast, Poetry Salzburg Review, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Rabbit Journal, The Weekend Australian,& Westerly.  His seventh book is wonder sadness madness joy, Ginninderra (Port Adelaide).  He lives in the Gippsland Lakes area of Victoria, Australia.

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Jonathan Lewis

New Year

Sodden roots pump blood
into deep mud that coils
around emerald hills
like Chinese dragons.
Elephant seals adorn Año Nuevo,
splayed like pharaohs along the shore.
The bulls fight over their consorts,
puffing out chest plates of scar tissue.
Pups with charcoal eyes observe
these roaring lords of the marine world,
while rain sweeps the sand
into the thick folds of their skins.
Beyond the hills the shoreline pulls
down into the depths, where chimeras
hook the currents with birdlike wings.
Ravens stare below at the scene unfold,
cawing from their speckled perches
like firecrackers before the new moon.

Copyright © Jonathan Lewis 2015

Jonathan Lewis co-taught a DeCal course on Scottish history and culture at U.C. Berkeley. His poems have appeared in Dream Catcher, Obsessed with PipeworkOrbis, and other publications; a poetry-themed humour piece is forthcoming in the London Miscellany.

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Stephanie Arsoska

Tell me a truth

like a small penny
I can turn over
and over.  Teach me
to let it shine,
keep it close.
I will do better
than most.  Hold
my truth, never
trade it away.
Please, just spare me
this day a small light,
a far off star
and I will endure.
Give me a story
steady as rain,
soft as snow.
Let me grow
bark like a tree
and I’ll stand, be still,
with the dependable dawn

Copyright © Stephanie Arsoska 2015

Stephanie lives in Scotland and has work published by The Emma Press, Prole, Magma, Ink, Sweat & Tears and Nutshells & Nuggets.  She writes a blogs at stephaniearsoska.co.uk.

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Craig Spence

The morning club

A twist of the bottle
And the journey begins
Hidden in clear view
High court business behind
The furthest from our mind

A can opened and toasted
Ten o’clock opening hours
Stories told at the side of the road
Polis cars flying past
Not noticing our drinking cast

The morning club reaches
The final orders
As the bottle empties
A quick coffee to settle
Launching like a steam kettle

Into the afternoon

Copyright © Craig Spence 2015

I am amateur poet , who used to be in bands for years .. I started a page on Facebook where I put up a poem a day.


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