There’s a hiss as he eases himself in
to the green pool, steam in his smoky hair.

      It’s Forbidden to Call it War It’s forbidden to call it war. We’re here to liberate you; ignore the glide bombs as they roar. Missiles across the sky still soar as tanks advance in a long queue, it’s forbidden to call it war. We’re not here to settle an old score nor about to give you your due; ignore the glide bombs as they roar. The wreckage, the cries, all the gore, a tragedy, sadly not new; it’s forbidden to call it war. The command’s been given before by a despot, hiding from view; ignore the glide bombs as they roar. Ever closer come the death corps intent on their murderous coup; ignore the glide bombs as they roar. It’s forbidden to call it war.     Roger Bonner is a writer based in Basel, Switzerland. His work appears or is forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, Snakeskin, The High Window, Lighten Up Online, among others. His poem Ocean Days was longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize 2025. He also writes short plays. You can find him at...

You and I sit
facing each other
in dialogue
across the table

Imagine a spring day drawing out possibilities
the newness of life, sisters in long skirts digging
tangled ground, breaking bones and loam wild

Newton didn’t discover gravity
The apple did.