Monthly Archives: February 2018
Phil Wood: Two poems
Cove I drive along grass-tufted lanes; not brave, not trusting: solitude maps my straying ways. The cove shelters a seal and pup; no smugglers, no theatre of men scripts the fraying waves. ——————————————————————————————– That sound across the estuary There’s nothing … Continue reading
Anne Dunford
Desecration Waves wash over the wintry shore. Worm casts punctuate sentences along lines of sea- sculpted texts. Waves wash higher reaches, shining pebbles polished smooth by years of tumbling, glisten with salty gel alongside sea glass. Waves wash these gems … Continue reading
J.A. Sutherland: Three poems
Poems from An Imaginary Menagerie – a calendar-sequence based on names given to full moons by various Native American people. MARCH: Lizard Moon (San Juan) The Desert Night Lizard: Xantusia Vigilis To the San Juan, he may be a god. … Continue reading
Sharon Phillips
Portland Bill, 10.12.2017 Strong gale sky tumbles grey west south west high tide 11.29 plates of glass their greasy slide glints of jade dull to slate whumph through blowholes a woman stops lifts her phone clicks and uploads her wind-giddy … Continue reading
Julie Hogg
Residing in your town’s haphazard thistle bricks and kooky genisteae moss, wild Irish hounds and paradisal words too early to be written, I let them settle on timbre and twofold meanings of the future, past a bench with the … Continue reading
Clive Donovan
WALKING HOME How many times have I walked this way? These hard marble kerb-stones – sometimes they smile. The moon alone above gives a shady wink, Ancient and conspiratorial. There are no people in the street this night. This is … Continue reading
John Short
PORCHES OF SUBURBIA She’s delivering leaflets again, urging residents to oust their charlatans who’ll vote through a bad deal then claim they had no choice. The people here are house proud, they all have pretty porches and loiter in back … Continue reading
Jen Emery
Recollection Late in the day, my daughter kneels and builds towers of pebbles, bone-white vertebrae. She is cast in shadow; behind her, fine sea spray shatters the sun, and prisms clash and spill. Along the shore, my son turns back … Continue reading
The Open Mouse 