by IB | May 25, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Without Blood I used to think that suffering, although injurious, makes a good story. You know how it goes. The more tortured the artist, the closer the body is to brilliance. I still do not know if this is a myth. But mostly, I do not care now. I still...
by IB | May 25, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
palm trees on the edge of farewell they are gathering seashells. the boy is shirtless and the girl is wearing a black dress that exposes broad shoulders soaking up the morning light. her hair tumbles a fiery orange down the length of her back. the same...
by IB | May 24, 2025 | Word & Image
O What That Hand Could Tell Jonathan Edis is a dad, international lecturer & osteopath in London. He’s a rep for Forest Hill Stanza, published by Ink Sweat & Tears, Green Ink Poetry & the AUB Poetry Prize. He loves cinema, history,...
by IB | May 24, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Truer Knowing nothing of him now except this: a log of sickness upon sickness embarrassing to dream. The boatyards west of reasonable shipping. The wars guessed at out beside the jetty – he abstains from something, shining buttons. But the rains keep...
by IB | May 23, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Creators Where your ancestor collected bottles amber dark as bog-steeped river water swaddling them in peachy doll flesh putty studding them with countless periwinkles gorse yellow, sorrel orange, figwort brown lamp stands to cast a circle of low light...
