Thursday, 30 June 2016

A poem by Jim Fletcher


I want to say “yes”
Like all of us
I don’t know how

I want to shout “welcome”
Nobody will hear me
How can I be heard?

I want them to understand
That we’re human
And our arms are open

I want us to help
Without constraints
Beyond politics
My name is Yanni
Today I said no
It breaks my heart

My name is Giovanni
Today I said no
I feel ashamed

My name is Janos
Today I said no
We can’t take you

My name is Yahya
I wait for help
I’m lost
Kos, Lesbos, Lampedusa
France, Hungary, Serbia
We are everywhere and nowhere

We are homeless
Yesterday they threw bread
Today water cannons
Tomorrow bullets?
In a world of lost humanity
We ask you, look at what
You should have said and done
Now passed, lost and gone
Have you tried hard enough?


I like to write
Poetry I hope is meaningful
Sometimes I get it right
Other times it’s just - - not

From a Boltonian exiled in Wiltshire and a proud friend of Poetry Swindon.

Monday, 27 June 2016

A poem by Laurie Kolp

Ordering Room

As we wait for our food
in a booth that’s much too close to me
          and yet I can’t make it move
          past your deadlocked arms
I begin to second guess this lunch date
arranged to ameliorate our relationship.

Your corrosive eyes materialize
                        as     I   p u s h    harder
across the table like a bed tray in my lap
and still you won’t give in.

I say I need some space
as the waiter sets our Caesar salads down.
Another temporary tether release
as you reach for your fork
all I know to do is breathe.

Laurie Kolp, author of Upon the Blue Couch (Winter Goose Publishing) and Hello, It's Your Mother (Finishing Line Press), serves as president of Texas Gulf Coast Writers and treasurer of the local chapter of the Poetry Society of Texas. Laurie’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Gargoyle, After the Pause, Crack the Spine, Scissors & Spackle, Pirene’s Fountain, and more. She lives in Southeast Texas with her husband, three children, and two dogs.

Thursday, 23 June 2016

A poem by Rachel Nix


Intrusive at times,
the sun watches

& implies
I should be wearing

less when wrapped
in your hold.

Abiding by this notion:
I abandon most

of my clothing
allowing my skin

to soak all of you in.
Shoulder-top freckles

give aim to your
affection; humidity:

heavy & sweet, kisses.
Down South, some things

do progress quickly.

Rachel Nix is a native of Northwest Alabama, where pine trees outnumber people and she likes it. She stays busy as Poetry Editor at cahoodaloodaling, Associate Editor at Pankhearst, and coffee-maker at her paying gig. Her work has recently appeared at concîs, Rust + Moth, and Bop Dead City. She can usually be found in some sort of shenanigans on Twitter as @rachelnix_poet

Monday, 20 June 2016

A poem by Kim Peter Kovac

Dress me in blue-green

Dress me in blue-green,
the color of the verge
now in focus ahead:

a border forming
between the present
life and the next, half-

life, built from fragments
of radium whose
vivid warmth pulses

outward, a thrumming
radiance vibrating
on signposts ahead.

Dress me in blue-green,
please - I’m on the verge.

Kim Peter Kovac works in the USA and internationally in theater for young audiences with an emphasis on new play development and networking. He tells stories on stages as producer of new plays, and tells stories in writing with lineated poems, prose poems, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, haiku, haibun, and microfiction, with work appearing or forthcoming in print and on-line in journals from Australia, India, Dubai (UAE), the UK, and the USA, including The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Red Paint Hill, Elsewhere, Frogpond, Mudlark, and Counterexample Poetics.

Thursday, 16 June 2016

A poem by Tiffany Cence


I breathed in the air – and
elt the breeze rustle through me.
The sun shone, alleviating any worry
I had o a gloomy day. The tractor’s engine
roared nearby, interrupting the serenity
that is summer. I elt myself closing up,
trying to escape the noise: and with no
luck I ell back into the same old pattern
o yesterday.

Tiffany Cence is a passionate writer residing in Greensburg, PA studying creative writing at Seton Hill University. In her spare time she enjoys reading, cooking, and playing with her dog.

Monday, 13 June 2016

A poem by Lindsay McLeod


I learnt at some length the limit
to how long you can fight with,
who you once fought for,
right up until her carnivorous
departure chewed a hole right
through me like a rat through

a flaking asbestos wall which,
is in itself kind of ironic because
years later she fell back to me,
just for a visit mind, to tell of her
surrender to cancer, showing me
the x-rays and all, the two almost

perfectly round stains in her
that looked for all the world to
me like separate wedding rings
that could not be removed.
I don't know what they looked
like to her. I didn't ask.

Lindsay McLeod trips over the horizon every morning. He has won several prizes and awards and stuff for poetry and short fiction and published his first co-authored poetry collection, My Almost Heart, in 2015. He currently writes on the sandy Southern edge of the world, where he watches the sea and the sky wrestle for supremacy at his letterbox. He prefers to support the underdog. It is presently an each way bet.

Thursday, 9 June 2016

A poem by Rachael Clyne


I thought I’d left something on.
There was a sound at night
persistent as a metronome -
poop        poop        poop

She told us it was a tiny toad.
We traced it to the yard wall
behind a piece of board.

That night in Dordogne we shared
childhood tales of being Jews
in Belgium, France, England.

The silent undercurrents
sense of foreignness,
lost families, the gap
they leave in the sternum,
a myopathy that
paralyses the soul.

A hidden noise in the dark
that you can’t ignore
tapping its Morse code -
Juif   Juif   Juif

It will not be silenced
the song the toads make
calling to each other
through the dark
like a heartbeat.

Commended in 2013 Poetry Space & published in winner’s Pamphlet

Rachael Clyne's work appears in magazines, including: Domestic Cherry, The Interpreter’s House, Tears in the Fence. Also anthologies: The Very Best of 52, Book of Love and Loss, Poems for a Liminal Age, Three Drops for a Cauldron. Her prizewinning collection, Singing at the Bone Tree, concerns nature and our longing for the wild Rachael's recent work focuses more on human nature.

Monday, 6 June 2016

A poem by Clive Oseman


After endless careful wrapping
the glare of suspicion returns,
paper peeling from a parcel
full of fragile fallacies fed with hope
polished with wishes of perfect days
framed to fool in many ways.
Fluoxetine fantasies, Prozac power
masking dark extremes
until the arrival of the hour
which sees illusions seized.

The stigma never truly leaves.
Progress marches on
then trips on the tiniest of triggers,
falls to its knees amid a cacophony
of sniggers and sneers,
mockingly making it clear
how even if you had the means
you'd never get the credit.
That's how life has always been...
with insecurities evergreen.

Clive Oseman is a Swindon based Brummie page and performance poet. Widely published worldwide in Japanese short forms, he now prefers mainstream poetry and has been published in print and online by Ink Sweat And Tears, Angry Manifesto, Decanto, I am not a Silent Poet and others. A poetry Rivals Finalist in 2014/15, he was long listed for the final at the Royal Albert Hall this year. He is on Twitter @Clive_Oseman