<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Keeping it private<\/strong><\/p>\n To escape disgrace, Then he, shy, loving The pair were welcomed there. had at the news, shaken their aged <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Alwyn Marriage<\/strong>\u2019s ten books include poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Formerly university lecturer and CEO of two NGOs, she\u2019s Managing Editor of Oversteps Books and research fellow at Surrey University. She gives poetry readings and workshops in Britain and abroad. Website: http:\/\/www.marriages.me.uk\/alwyn\/<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Wise men in the city<\/strong><\/p>\n The Christian preacher is debating with his Muslim brothers about the one true God, while Birmingham\u2019s Christmas market sausage and gluhweins its way towards Black Friday. There are school kids doing surveys, ladies on a jolly and sales staff at pop-up stalls in the arcades earning Oscars for their performances. We keep seeing cute babies today, like their lonely mums only bring them out on wet Thursdays, when coffee shops are quieter and there\u2019s a welcome at the inn. We walk round Selfridge\u2019s for a laugh, only it\u2019s not funny that a gaudy jumper costs eight hundred and fifty quid and a tie ninety five. This is more Three Kings territory and we are just simple shepherds, eyes dazzled by the shiny city. There\u2019s a change of shift at the Christian soapbox and another beggar pockets a quid and mutters. Does any of this matter. Well, just think about it. Shoppers wear their little carrier bags like badges \u2013 Hilfiger, Victoria\u2019s Secret, even Primark and we walk through the fruity waft of vapers who think they\u2019re saving themselves from lung cancer. I think it matters a lot.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Pat Edwards<\/strong> is a poet, teacher, reviewer and performer from Mid Wales. Her work has appeared in Magma, Prole, Ink Sweat & Tears, Atrium<\/em> and others. Pat hosts monthly Verbatim poetry open mic nights and curates Welshpool Poetry Festival.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Snow was an apparition<\/strong><\/p>\n Snow was an apparition: Snow spread its wings Snow gave us its body The day I took the thrill I didn\u2019t expect the cold held me still, as I struggled <\/p>\n <\/p>\n K. S. Moore<\/strong>‘s poetry has recently appeared in New Welsh Review<\/em>, Spontaneity<\/em>, Ink Sweat & Tears<\/em>, The Stinging Fly<\/em> and Southword<\/em>. Work is upcoming in Atlanta Review<\/em>. Shortlists have included: Trim Poetry Competition and Americymru West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition.<\/p>\n
\noutrun the wagging
\ntongues, she took
\na break from home
\nby going to visit
\nher cousin.
\nSuch happy days they
\nspent together there,
\ntwo young women
\nwith so much to share.<\/p>\n
\nand ready to accept
\nthat things weren\u2019t always
\nwhat they first appeared to be,
\nmade arrangements for
\na protracted visit to
\nhis parents\u2019 home.<\/p>\n
\nThe aunts who had despaired
\nthat he would ever produce
\nthe longed-for heir to guarantee
\nthe future of their family name,<\/p>\n
\nlocks in shame, but wouldn\u2019t dream
\nof censure, accepted the surprising
\ngift from God, no questions asked,
\nshared their contact lists of friends
\nin far-off places, sent them off
\nwith blessings to explore
\nlands far away from Bethlehem
\nor nosy Nazareth.<\/p>\n
\nreach out to touch,
\nit disappears.<\/p>\n
\nfor one white day:
\nflew and landed, flew and landed.<\/p>\n
\nbuilt us to stand pure:
\nyou can make your own impression.<\/p>\n
\nin my chest on a walk
\nto deliver a snowman,<\/p>\n
\nto creep into my boots \u2014
\na cold that hurt,<\/p>\n
\nto trace my hollow steps
\nto the place I began with hope.<\/p>\n