Chris Powici

    Fisherman After a long, dreich day in the firth – soaked gansey, torn gloves, a few sorry mackerel dangling from the lines – I hauled up on the beach. Thick smell of wrack. Bird cries. Night.                I lit a kerosene lamp, stood at the sea’s edge,...

Royal Rhodes

    Afterlife Perhaps the friends of Lazarus, who died and slipped his shroud, on seeing him might swoon or rush to hear the tales of that beyond they hoped and feared to face. Perhaps some cried or shook and got themselves quite drunk by noon. Or had the...

Dmitry Blizniuk for World Poetry Day

  The Memory of Lives incarnation. God in his worn, greasy jeans like a car mechanic is lighting a new life from an old one. a new cigarette from a cigarette butt. and you are merely a flame between the two worlds, smoked on an empty stomach. while he breathes...

Jeff Skinner

      Erato It takes ages. Tell me what it is you’re after she says, when finally I get through. Rain, I answer, rain that falls softly in a garden, and on the Aegean, the noise they make together, trees in the rain, and the way rain brightens the green...

Annabelle Markwick-Staff

      Olympics I devoured the Olympics, filled my mouth and scrapbook with sticky ephemera. I stalked a torch, seized my shining, perforated prey, and stared into the void of Wenlock and Mandeville’s eyes. Sometimes, I am in the Olympics. I crawl from...

Charles G. Lauder

      Craftsmanship beneath night’s skin he unearths raw stones serrated     encrusted    enigmatic    cold tumbling them in two-twenty grit wears away the dull four hundred    six hundred highlights the delicate garnet’s exposed seam     agate’s...