Wisteria by Paul Collins
as idle hands lunge for delicate petticoats.
Their ugly, pockmarked howls pinch her deeply
with each new limb they expose,
until her tears drop like leaves, unheard
and become soiled.
like a slapper against a lamppost.
Her body but scattered, bent baguettes,
freeze-set with the frigid, nightly chills,
which preserve her stark immodesty
and her malign revenge.
glazed like freshly shellacked fingernails,
as her body itches with the swellings of youth
and foliage fastens frills around her chest,
summoning the dewy-peach lustre of virginity.
Now she basks in our wanton, forgiving glares.
in a raincoat that clings to her, just so.
Her barely concealed fruits spilling out,
as the sun caresses her skin hotly, until she cums
with that cacophony of lilac bells gawping, grape-like,
ringing out the sweet moans of her petite-mort.
Foreign Bodies, written by Paul Collins
to check if her airways are clear –
so that all this breathing can begin.
Her lips seal around them tightly,
absorbing them like some foreign tongue
for the curious language of sighs, that ensures.
where I fill them with coarse, English words
that barge through their depths like a syringe –
to clear all belief in a way back,
as they summon their inner drums to beat.
Marchons, marchons, she seems to sing.
surrendering each eye like a passport,
to a perfume that declares jurisdiction
over the lining of my lungs,
drawing in my diaphragm with colours
that dazzle me with choking desire.
searching desperately for irritations.
Her eyelids open wide like an EU border
and she blinks at me once for yes.
I check the status of her breasts
and she bathes my eyes in their unclasping.
as her eyes migrate south with the swallows,
guiding me to the place of worship.
I remove the remaining obstructions and descend,
gently swabbing her soreness with my lips.
as her thighs pinch my head like tweezers.
and she welcomes it like a lollipop stick,
pressing herself against it stubbornly,
whilst her hips wriggle lithely in my palms.
My cocooned ears just making out her own ‘ahs’
as she whispers back the message, like téléphone Arab.
and pierces me with eyes like brochettes.
“Penetrate me” she insists,
in an accent, thick with longing.
And so we assume the position,
that turns missionaries into converts.
amongst all the tapping of veins and piercing of folds,
until our fluids finally merge like seas that meet
and our two foreign bodies collapse
into the space between walls,
where only wildflowers grow.
Paper Love by John Phrey Claro
Carved names into the trees
Fallen Warrior of Light by Deevesh Ramphul
Loss by Nupur Nair
Saying this does not make me believe it,
But denying it does not bring you back.
Although, I know I’ll keep trying,
I knew that I would meet grief in this lifetime,
Although, I didn’t expect you to be the mutual friend that introduces us,
Its walls may be strong enough to cradle your magnitude,
The walls down here have cracked from your unapologetic boldness,
Earth was never ready for you, for your sincere honesty and raw complexities,
Your presence did not leave us with your body,
How can something as cowardly as death wash away your existence?
I am still in the process of understanding its tongue,
Although not as sharp as yours, it is magnifying,
It is built with your rigid sternness and tough love,
These walls insist their shadows hold every molecule of your presence,
And while I deny them both,
These tears insist I don’t.
Condolences by Nupur Nair
To fill our paper thin silences,
They were used by acquaintances,
To fill their sweet condolences,
They masked their sympathies,
To reveal their forced sorrows,
These are the words I stole,
To invite our hopeful tomorrows.
Inspiration Fairy by Jennifer Carl
unproductive in rough terrain
How united we become with the
turn of a contemptible person
and realizes, friend to the
sustained comfort of narrow margins
evil, pleasing mouthfuls:
source of unhappiness
pulls me into public view
shown and revealed,
the appeal dissolves
The debt disguised
and I am directed
Sometimes by Karen Bradley
in a starless sea.
Slowly sink to the
as my veins echo with a
and lungs scream for
tired of being me.
Smile at the ready,
kind words on my lips,
always ready to
Sometimes, I would like
the silence to envelop me.
Wrap me in its calm.
Ease my mind of anxiety
and let me be me.
Mysterious Planet by Ambrose Gibbs
in all for love to stand tall for the moment of a bright night to love
with light to see what’s right in the mist of the night.
for love to fall above the rising of the sun to become one with the skies
of fun for a ton of prosperity to believe in the moment
to be lost inside to hide to be found solid as the ground as tough as it sounds
to fight to live to be bound to shut down lethal evil that comes in many shapes or
forms to escape the warmth of time in the mind for peace is the least to find
in hard times for the cries of goodbyes the lies in time despise the skies
for life to live to stay positive for god to forgive, the magic of life for the tragic night,
for the havoc in life for the mission for a proposition to stand tall in all
beyond the falls of the river of dreams for what life mean to be deemed for many memories of screams, life is organic never to panic not to take life for granted
on this mysterious planet.
Silent Nightingale, by Afreeca Graham
Leaving this one.
They flipped tiny wings and left
Feathers of past presences.
In the stillness of dawn,
Right before the light had caught the Dew and gone,
Like a spider awaiting its web’s vibration to
I called out and listened for the wind to send my song back.
At the cage’s door
Thousands of songs
But never mine.
In the clutches of some feline.
Tale, of a song less
Where Two Lines Meet by Afreeca Graham
Like the collision of two cars hitting each other.
It’s the beginning of something risky.
Like a handshake at a meet and greet.
Where two lines meet,
A road end.
And you can rest for a while until
You’re ready to trod on again.
Where two lines meet,
Two lines meet in a middle
Or the beginning of an end.
Joining a clothing line.
Where two lines meet,
The path is hazy-
Wonders never cease.
Like the streak of light that pulls you to the horizon.
Lines that never meet
It’s a trail filled with many signs “beware”
Like the road to nowhere.
Lines that never meet,
Destinations are never clear,
Journey is neat.
And the things you see
Comes from lines that goes on
The things you never understood.
But now understand.
The things that crash.
The things fearful and full of bliss.
Things left in the middle.
At beginnings and ends.
The things we absentmindedly greet,
Comes where two lines,
I Grieved, poetry by Christina Reed
Not between bed sheets
But at parties
In loud places
Poetry by Christina Reed
I’ve had to love and let go
Poetry by Christina Reed
I fully understood death
Till it happened
Inside of me