Poetry By Isaac Furtney

Could’ve Been Worse

Salted cheeks, pitiful sobs.

A love’s depth I didn’t comprehend.

Tabitha

Tabi

mama

Ouch.

Memories of my selfishness are cactus needles.

Memories of your sweetness burn my soul like onion acid in my eyes.

Tears aren’t enough, but

Them, the pen, and my

Prayers are all I’ve got.

I haven’t visited your grave.

I may never.

No one or no thing can these wounds nurse.

But were it me who’d died,

For you, it would’ve been worse.

Poetry By Srinithi Muthu

My Half and Yours

Our broken pieces my half and yours
We put it together thought it’d be ours
We felt safe we called it home
What happened to forever ?
Why did it change, or does it really even matter ?
Unless we have each other ?
Are we the same as before, reluctantly saying no.
Can’t find the words I’m struck in silence and you want my reasons
You’re breaking apart in front of me
And I’m breaking apart silently
If we’re both the same why’re we slipping away
Twin flames bruise they say I hope we could be the exception
I love you I hope it never feels wrong
If we love each other, why do we feel so blue ?
You’re just going through a rough patch, you’ll get through it
It’s always going to be hard you just have to fix it
2 different opinions I can’t tell right from wrong
Why are you quiet, is it me, am I hurting you ?
I’m sorry but you do too
You have your reasons but i’m here broken
I gave you the stars and even the moon
Maybe time will heal
Maybe time will break us
I hope this changes
I hope my half and yours become whole again

Poetry By Emanuela Meneghelli

THE POMPOUS TRIUMPH

When Galileo discovered you weren’t a fixed star,
Jupiter, what did you think?
Were you annoyed, or even more arrogant,
Did you reveal your massive, giant’s nature?

The dance of your moons, an incomparable quadrille,
venerated through a rudimentary telescope,
to the eyes of a sleepless scholar, it was enchantment.
His mind gave birth to truths that later became a source of pride.

The Earth at the center was a universal cult,
a preconception no one dared to contest.
But today, seated on the throne like a tyrant,
it is not Jupiter, but man, with his life of deceit.

He is no different from an animal; he is one and the same.
Hunter and prey with a corporeal and abstract intelligence,
an anthropomorphic ape linked to chimps and gorillas,
evolved in language, his essence now cries and screams.

He loves to dominate with high-sounding speeches,
to plunder, consume, and tell himself fairy tales;
it does not even pain him to suppress diversity,
subjugating it to a will often steeped in malice.

Nature rebels, man racks his brains,
but everything follows its own laws,
from the timid lotus flower
to the most egocentric little ape.

If we do not step down from our pedestal,
taking a step back,
we will find ourselves put on display
by some evolved chimpanzee
as rare specimens in shockproof cages.

Poetry By NN Benn

the heel of the boot

couldn’t eat
the dinner she made me,
enzymes fail me
she forgets her passport!
in the air,
hunger avails me
credit card stand off
at the hire-car shop,
assistance is futile
trees like gobbled snails,
a white wine week of vees while
i unthread the pedal
and am not trusted
by the bike hire goon
tricasse porto, pizza, costal
flustered
mostly on wheels…
the roman tricolore
basil, tomato and cheese
and the teal from the sky
to the seas
post ride,
ride the tide to ankle deep
eat the weans’ white ices
except
oor wan wean’s
nae teethen’ yet
a semi colon;
then we slept
morning lag,
saddle bag snag
locked up rear
momentary fear
east is beast
west for rest
the church by the wine bar
they ring the bells
to summon up
the ghosts from hell
until they have
a quorum
to discuss matters
ecclesial
in their
worthy forum
there was
anarchic popelessness,
the vatican
was hopeless with
erratic sin
and soulless stress
you understand
the mess we’re in!
toggle be,
the jazziest beaver
i am untartened,
a border reiver
amaro montenegro,
an iron brew
why am i feart
of mosquitos
i’ve already been
bit like 40 goes
got one back
like cracking
human blood albumin
from a winged black egg
she drives
so i can faff
do you know
you hoove
with a hoover
and you put
loash on
overtake a wobbler
driver’s drinking a beer
with the phone to his ear
a green flash
from the monoxide meter
and an electric shock
from the wall socket
another laptop tizzy dash
stranded at the front
while the crew all pee
with the woman
from yesterday’s cafe
then reunited in aisle six
iron oxide
on duck egg gasometer
queues likely
on the way into town
best do some health
whole meal dinner
with broccoli prizes

Poetry By Christopher Couch

the lonely also sings

I’m also suffering by
suffering
alone

by being in the room and all I see
is room

the sounds that are here except on occasion
from the street
behind

sometimes a bird call though
not so much these
days
maybe not for hearing
or maybe from another source
of distracting
heat
as we have
as I have
and
causing things to flee

Poetry By Lynn White

It’s My Body

It’s my body to imagine,
to construct and shape,
in or out of fashion.
Or so I like to think.
But others
have different
imaginings,
different visions,
different versions
of me and my body.
I have to consider these,
to determine my own reality,
have to decide how to engage
these multiple images
and their projections
to reveal myself to myself,
if I can see them, that is.
For sometimes they are invisible,
as sometimes I am,
existing only in imaginations.
But, it is still my body,
to decide whose versions
it engages with,
who it entertains.
And who enters
into this conversation.