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The temple at nightfall Patrick Williamson's recent poetry collections include Presenza (Samuele Editore). Here and Now and Take a deep look (Cyberwit.net). Editor/translator of Turn your back on the night (The Antonym) and The Parley Tree, Poets from French-speaking...

Herpetology Often, my worries are frog-shaped, flexed flippers flashing through vanishing ripple reflections. Poisonous green thoughts. The amphibious twisting of double-state catastrophising. I have perfected the art of doing nothing, looking busy and helping no one....

      Metamorphosis If I can shape-change myself if I can reassemble the rubble of my vision so I can re-see dragonflies, apocalypses, trivia if I can have new taste-buds to suit my re-embodied self and graze on a fresh diet of sweet euphoria and bitter...

      Keeping the Wolf Look at me, look — night eyes find their way without light. I have learnt to listen for the lies of men, to sing my song to the moon so now my heart beats in time with his — we are one. He covers me, keeps me warm, I can come to...

      How a Plastic Bag in an Elm Tree on Winter St. Learned to Mimic the Moon for Özge Lena It’s growing in what was once the tree with the great green room. It’s singing in yogurt and fluttering like an amorphous pearl of necrosis. It tilts at...

  Tim Dwyer’s poems appear in UK and Irish publications, recently/forthcoming in Cyphers, Under The Radar, Masculinity Anthology and previously Ink Sweat & Tears. His chapbook is Smithy Of Our Longings (Lapwing). He lives by the shore in Bangor, Northern...

      what shows up at dusk moths of course, pale parings― filmy, restless dark swarf of birds homeflitting to perch-trees sometimes a hedgehog nosing leaflitter an owl wooing from the pines but mostly, stars which have been here all day discreetly...

      Operation Alphaman It took a great effort and I had to bite hard on the stick to push the subcostal muscles aside. The skin had parted easily under my knife, though keeping the blood at bay with no one to swab the wound was difficult. This was...

      When one has lived a long time (After Galway Kinnell) When one has lived a long time alone and not alone your time become someone’s history and you have grown tired of yet another war and the world has it in for you simply for being wrong nation...

      I heard a rumour that Pandora moonlights She wears sunglasses in the lounge knives flexed and ready for battle It’s not Sunday but lambs need carving She’s a weapon of disruption unleashed to worm rumours where words have no walls Paid for all the...

      Torn On one side– my heritage on the other side­– their heritage on both sides– carnage everywhere– endless grief. To lift the weight sitting in my chest. I need to be away from people. In an edgeland of drab fields and ditches, I seek solace, not...

Nick Browne is an established novelist and aspiring poet. Nick’s poetry has been accepted for publication by Acumen, Ink Sweat & Tears, Blue Nib, Snakeskin, Archaeology Today, Anthropecene, Wivanhoe, Lunar Magazine and Dreich and been anthologised in Bollocks to...

      The Ledger In the left hand column she writes He’s married in the right hand column she writes My skin is beached against the stone wall of you in the left hand column she writes He sets his alarm for 1715 In the right hand column she writes When...

      Lovers and Trees In the evening trees become sad I climbed on them like a metaphor, later it transpired they were our anthropological versions organic companions shadowing imagine how many lovers have sat under them moaning the mysteries how many...