To What End (After Mei Yao Chen)
by George Freek
The night is the hardest.
Trees hide the moon.
I stare at the stars.
They reveal deep scars.
If they could, they would
sink to their knees.
I know nothing, as I grow old.
But I think my fears
have only begun.
And only two months ago,
I had a wife to keep me young.
Scotch whisky
by Lana Bella
two cupfuls of Scotch on the table:
yours was plain of a dark caramel,
mine, pale and reckless on the rock,
outside the window,
your upturned face stitched planets and stars
where the night sky opened
and closed its wings,
inside the house,
I lifted my nose and breathed heavy
the whisky musk,
you walked back in from the cold,
one hand flicked closed the door frame,
the other lay fast on the glass bay,
exposing the air's imprints
where your palm left in flight
a fine sheen of mist,
my gaze fell upon your tangled hair,
and the crass litany of things that curled
themselves into the easy pause
of our silence,
still, its undertow dragged the haste of
your form on mine,
as if I were whisky, and you, ice--
Yesterday
by Banu Ibrahim
The only grandmother I knew died yesterday
And I could not go to the funeral.
And when her ashes float in the Ganges,
they will be alone.
The only grandmother I knew yesterday died
I could not go to the funeral and
the only yesterday I knew grandmother died
I could and not go to the funeral
grandmother only knew I died yesterday the
funeral could not go and I to the
grandmother that I knew only the died
will be alone in the Ganges funeral
ashes float alone
the Ganges will be my grandmother
float in the funeral of
my dying yesterday
and I alone died and
go not to the funeral and I could
not go to the funeral and I could
not go to the funeral and I did
not go to the funeral and I did
not want to go to the funeral and
I did not want to go.
A New York Minute
by Lana Bella
as the sun ascends,
your kisses drape my body
like a long trench coat
"we are here, my love,
in New York city", you whisper
between breaths and lips
full of my dark braid,
you run a finger across my palm
tracing from west to east,
outlining our kickoff caravan from the
southernmost point at Cabo San Lucas
to Arizona's Grand Canyon, winding round
the sandstock arches in Utah, over the
Trail Ridge Road through Colorado,
then by way of Lakeshore Drive curving
Lake Michigan, where the sand is smooth
and off-white, then aboard the soaking tour
of Niagara Falls before driving deep into
the heart of Manhattan, so on this
morning with winter on its way out, along
with hints of early spring creeping in, and
soft rain patters against the hotel's windowpane,
I strain my neck chasing the shadows
over the Hudson River with thawed out snow as
you wring every last drops of my sighs with your
many tales of a New York minute
At the back
by Dominic Bond
Outside, refuse was piling up,
one home offering used toilet rolls,
newspapers and cardboard stained
with the outline of a pizza,
two holiday brochures
an unread newspaper
and several empty bottles
of wine,
more than she had told the Dr,
less than it took
to help her sleep,
congregated at the back
away from the pavement.
THE ORMAND FOGERTY SCHOOL OF PORNOGRAPHY
by Colin James
Your footwear may present a problem.
I think I understand your motive,
something to wear in town and city.
The power lines, the real power lines
run discordantly. There is no
truth like dishonest truth.
You need only stretch out
and all the plausibility is gone.
Perhaps you are thinking about
something else. I can't blame you.
Catastrophic, now there's a word.
Capacity
by Minahil Salam
there were little things I thought of
at the edge of silence and a river
guns and their shooters
were just as quiet in waiting
rose petals crushed in my fingertips
and droplets sprang from my feet
but it wasn’t summer
rather,
a frigid winter
I was still denying
by George Freek
The night is the hardest.
Trees hide the moon.
I stare at the stars.
They reveal deep scars.
If they could, they would
sink to their knees.
I know nothing, as I grow old.
But I think my fears
have only begun.
And only two months ago,
I had a wife to keep me young.
Scotch whisky
by Lana Bella
two cupfuls of Scotch on the table:
yours was plain of a dark caramel,
mine, pale and reckless on the rock,
outside the window,
your upturned face stitched planets and stars
where the night sky opened
and closed its wings,
inside the house,
I lifted my nose and breathed heavy
the whisky musk,
you walked back in from the cold,
one hand flicked closed the door frame,
the other lay fast on the glass bay,
exposing the air's imprints
where your palm left in flight
a fine sheen of mist,
my gaze fell upon your tangled hair,
and the crass litany of things that curled
themselves into the easy pause
of our silence,
still, its undertow dragged the haste of
your form on mine,
as if I were whisky, and you, ice--
Yesterday
by Banu Ibrahim
The only grandmother I knew died yesterday
And I could not go to the funeral.
And when her ashes float in the Ganges,
they will be alone.
The only grandmother I knew yesterday died
I could not go to the funeral and
the only yesterday I knew grandmother died
I could and not go to the funeral
grandmother only knew I died yesterday the
funeral could not go and I to the
grandmother that I knew only the died
will be alone in the Ganges funeral
ashes float alone
the Ganges will be my grandmother
float in the funeral of
my dying yesterday
and I alone died and
go not to the funeral and I could
not go to the funeral and I could
not go to the funeral and I did
not go to the funeral and I did
not want to go to the funeral and
I did not want to go.
A New York Minute
by Lana Bella
as the sun ascends,
your kisses drape my body
like a long trench coat
"we are here, my love,
in New York city", you whisper
between breaths and lips
full of my dark braid,
you run a finger across my palm
tracing from west to east,
outlining our kickoff caravan from the
southernmost point at Cabo San Lucas
to Arizona's Grand Canyon, winding round
the sandstock arches in Utah, over the
Trail Ridge Road through Colorado,
then by way of Lakeshore Drive curving
Lake Michigan, where the sand is smooth
and off-white, then aboard the soaking tour
of Niagara Falls before driving deep into
the heart of Manhattan, so on this
morning with winter on its way out, along
with hints of early spring creeping in, and
soft rain patters against the hotel's windowpane,
I strain my neck chasing the shadows
over the Hudson River with thawed out snow as
you wring every last drops of my sighs with your
many tales of a New York minute
At the back
by Dominic Bond
Outside, refuse was piling up,
one home offering used toilet rolls,
newspapers and cardboard stained
with the outline of a pizza,
two holiday brochures
an unread newspaper
and several empty bottles
of wine,
more than she had told the Dr,
less than it took
to help her sleep,
congregated at the back
away from the pavement.
THE ORMAND FOGERTY SCHOOL OF PORNOGRAPHY
by Colin James
Your footwear may present a problem.
I think I understand your motive,
something to wear in town and city.
The power lines, the real power lines
run discordantly. There is no
truth like dishonest truth.
You need only stretch out
and all the plausibility is gone.
Perhaps you are thinking about
something else. I can't blame you.
Catastrophic, now there's a word.
Capacity
by Minahil Salam
there were little things I thought of
at the edge of silence and a river
guns and their shooters
were just as quiet in waiting
rose petals crushed in my fingertips
and droplets sprang from my feet
but it wasn’t summer
rather,
a frigid winter
I was still denying
