How did a barrel-chested man learn
this magic? Softened like golden butter
in a dizzy aftermath, he did too many wars perhaps.
Tag: writer
POETRY IN TRANSLATION – Bartosz Konstrat, tr. Dawid Mobolaji
But from time to time it does exist. Something like a stray lash under the eyelid
trying to catch its last breath.
TWO POEMS – Cara L. McKee
at least the colour I’m told is
robin’s egg blue, like
boy-baby blankets, like
deep breaths of sunshine.
ONE POEM – J.M.Summers
It is an old superstition.
The mirror, and the room
dark behind it but for the
flickering of a few fading
candles.
FICTION | Summer Buzz 1960 – Anne Irwin
She arms herself with the metal pipe of the Electrolux
with the precision of a marksman
Porridge 