Incarnation
Every time I conjure a spell, offer a prayer
in your memory – ask for your forgiveness
for things I did not know, I should’ve known –
ignorance not an acceptable reason for failing,
my inability to see things, the wonder of it all –
with you gone now for over a quarter of a century
and me lost in the continents of my not knowing –
I think of a young man or woman, in their mid-twenties,
somewhere, suddenly feeling on top of the world,
smiling, for no reason in particular. Imagine someone
in the universe uplifted for a moment as if listening
to an unheard piece of music, an ode to joy –
not worrying about anything – not illness, not death,
poverty, homelessness, war, wildfires – suspended in bliss.
Shanta Acharya is the author of eight collections of poetry. Her latest, Dear Life (2025), received a 5-star review and was an Editor’s Pick at Booklife (Publisher’s Weekly, USA). Her other collections include What Survives Is The Singing (2020), Imagine: New and Selected Poems (2017), and Dreams That Spell The Light (2010). Her doctoral study, The Influence of Indian Thought on Ralph Waldo Emerson, appeared in 2001 and her novel, A World Elsewhere, in 2015.
The Plough
I can almost rely on my ability
to find The Plough in the night sky.
My brother taught me to stand in the darkness,
let my eyes adjust.
There I discovered patience
and a pure silence
which held so much.
Did you know
every time I take you outside
to stand with me
under that steadfast saucepan of seven stars,
I am saying I love you?
I am telling you
my love feels as big as the universe
that I want our days to close with wonder.
Sue Finch is the author of Magnifying Glass, Welcome to the Museum of a Life, and Vortex Over Wave. She loves the coast, peculiar things, and the scent of ice-cream freezers.
I create little worlds
I step into the darkness as the last light fades.
The stars are not there yet. The campfire gleams
in grey ash. And I am alone with the night.
Deep down we all know our dreams.
I pull my coat tighter around my chest
with the blue hours fading into black.
Tiny stars appear when I listen.
I want to create bigger constellations.
I dream of big suns, supernovas,
I move stars, paint new ones, make worlds
with a circle from the light of Venus.
This is what I want.
I want the storytellers to join me. I map more planets,
and hold them close. Wrap them in my cloak.
Hold them warm, so that I can gift them.
In the morning there is a breeze
of what is left. I return to the forest.
Smell dark soil and wild strawberries.
I create more galaxies, and add them
as little notes into books so that you can touch them.
And sometimes I hear the stars’ soft voices:
My darling, be patient with yourself.
Miriam Otto is a poet, designer and artist, and also a traveller. She is based in Germany, with a magical wood behind her home. And enjoys talking to trees. Her third poetry collection is called A Little World.