Movement in February The bluetit briefly bows his head In the shallow end of the dark, melted pondTo drink – And on leafless treesThe finches flit from pink bud to brown branch,Hungrily. The new world has opened An invisible eggshell fractureFor the small birds –Letting only them in to taste. We are still wading through Winter,Tears of the seasonContinue reading “LJ Ireton: ‘Movement in February’ and ‘Joining the water birds’”
Tag Archives: poetry
Salvatore Difalco: The Tedium of Atlas
Familiar fades & flags applyon this side of joywhere I dream of joy. Just travel happyturn eyes backrugged far green sunlit field turn off harsh drymundane conversations if the happy space restores the senses. It is well nigh incredible.I’ve endured a fool world long outalmost impossibly, sigh.Fire? Anything exceptwhat resembles fear—having entered in crimson robes.IContinue reading “Salvatore Difalco: The Tedium of Atlas”
Hazel Smith and Sieglinde Karl-Spence: extracts from Heimlich Unheimlich
Hazel Smith and Sieglinde Karl-Spence Hazel SmithHazel Smith is a writer, performer, new media artist and academic who was born in Leeds, England and emigrated to Australia in 1988. She has published five volumes of poetry including The Erotics of Geography: poetry, performance texts, new media works, Tinfish Press, Kaneohe, Hawaii, 2008 (with accompanying CD Rom), Word Migrants, Sydney: Giramondo,Continue reading “Hazel Smith and Sieglinde Karl-Spence: extracts from Heimlich Unheimlich”
Amy DeBellis: Staircase
I go to sleep cold and when I wake up cold I’m gnawing on the rinds of my dreams. I have nightmareswhere my teeth turn to sugar cubes and dissolve,and the scariest part isn’t losing thembut feeling all the calories melting onto my tongue. Fur sprouts along my body like moss, like tinyforests. My chestContinue reading “Amy DeBellis: Staircase”
Mark Goodwin: extracts from ‘Of Five Named’
april’s swollenstream makes our forlorn willows wade their gree ntrunks trailing muddy wakes hear the meadownow sub mit as trickling soil-scented lengths of glit teringwet en croach across grass april’s water isf alling from april’ssteady grey gaze ofclouds how april has nocares at all for cherry’spetals now racing drainwards in a pril’s rills i metContinue reading “Mark Goodwin: extracts from ‘Of Five Named’”
JD Howse: I’ve Grown So Lonesome
after James Bidgood’s ‘Pink Narcissus (1971)‘ it was real because you dreamt it was realfantasy upon fantasy upon fantasydream until dream is more physical than physicalloneliness as an intimacy with lonelinessbodies carved from the nakedness of bodiesa dream as an intricately crafted physical placea constructed set within a set spacethe force of perspective forceda realityContinue reading “JD Howse: I’ve Grown So Lonesome”
Moira Walsh: ‘Prognosis’ and ‘Exit strategies’
PrognosisYou say October or that ember monthmy fires will burn again in the healed place Welded stove or mortared hearthcarefully and in tiny steps repaired And no,the summer is not wasted on me I brave the light unknowing Brave the thin line between livingand thinking about it Exit strategiesA lovera bucketa pulleya graft Machete andContinue reading “Moira Walsh: ‘Prognosis’ and ‘Exit strategies’”
Godefroy Dronsart: ALL POEMS END IN THE SEA
And all are born right ———————————-now, all the poems, born of their small poem-eggs, salt-grey, and all begin their turtlish crawl —————————————–toward —————————————————–the sea, ———except ——————–this one. This poem fumbles, sits up, puzzled, a frown in his messy fluff.And the sea, the instinct, the voice of tradition seeps up the sandy trail her siblings leftContinue reading “Godefroy Dronsart: ALL POEMS END IN THE SEA”
Warren Czapa: Indeterminate Architecture I
& i am brushing my teeth in a pre-Raphaelite way the last piece of dirt at the rodeo looking out over Spitalfields Market i am the distance between the pale-brown teaks of absent office furniture i need the resistance of a hard surface [Pollock] Warren Czapa Warren Czapa lives and works in London. His poemsContinue reading “Warren Czapa: Indeterminate Architecture I”
Lee Potts: Saints Layered like Leaves
Great aunt Jenny Palmer,brought back from her circuit ofchapels, crypts, and grottoes,cards made holy by the impositionof ink and expectation. Gathered, then left,like losing lotto tickets,for me to slip into forcedhot air heating vents.The ticks and bangsfrom the furnace belowscared me further into piety.Spinning them into the dark, I prayedthat a little light would carryContinue reading “Lee Potts: Saints Layered like Leaves”
OSMOSIS PRESS 