Rose Lennard

      Lord, grant me… On hot days, the back door stands open to the garden, to sudden wing flurries, sparrow chit-chat. By evening there are bluebottles upstairs, stupidly circling, banging themselves against the place the light comes from. I have been...

Nigel Fiander Ford

      HUT EXIST 32 Something child There is a muttering in the hut, a miniature sandstorm whirled out of the doorway and spiralled into the curtain of evening. The something child ent gonna change. The something ent gonna get old. That and this are my...

Linda Ford

      The Fair Leaves Town The hum of early traffic resonates where skeletal rides seek egress on lorries bound for the next town, and the road opens like a wound, becomes a thoroughfare again. We view the marketplace as we would a post-festive room,...

Eugene Stevenson

      Mace in Her Pocket She is used to walking unafraid of the echo off her heeled steps, moving through the parking lot in a still-dark, early morning hour. Mace in her pocket, fur coat on her back, fist wrapped around her keys, she takes a breath...

Joshua St. Claire

      Two Haiku green spruce cone a globe of sap slips below the horizon * bloom of jellyfish a thousand beach umbrellas open         close     Joshua St. Claire is an accountant who works as a financial director for a large non-profit in...