April Afternoon by Alan Britt

Dog legs
flicker
through lattice,
Jacques’ vermilion collar
alerts the aureole
shivering
the robin’s
dazzling green overture.

The robin
braids her song
around a thick gray maple branch.

Her song, a small garter snake
disguised as an asp
escaping
the golden cup
of truth.

Alan Britt, MD, USA

Innisfree by William Hammett

And I will have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

from The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats

On certain evenings,
when the galaxy’s dust falls into blue by degrees,
I think of Innisfree . . .

Here, the avenue is diseased,
commerce tainted with harlotry.
Apocalyptic rhythms race for capital gains
under the bellicose grin of the gun.
Commuters die on the subway twice a day.
Greenwich meridian is no longer in its prime:
time itself is paralyzed
and gives no refuge to the dove
or the shadow of its wing.

Having reached my quota,
I cancel all appointments for the afternoon.
Stars fall into the purple noon by degrees.
There’s a glimmer of hope in the isle,
a conspicuous absence of everything
which speaks of quantity.
Gravity acquiesces to the linnet’s wings.
Let us arise, therefore, and go to Innisfree;
let us not speak when the cricket sings
of peace which comes dropping slow
forever in the bee-loud glade.
Dust is settling from the Milky Way,
and by degrees the meridian
is slowly healed at Innisfree.


William Hammett, Louisiana, USA

Love's Poison by Amir Elzeni

We slide, glide hit the spot
explode in liquid forgiveness numbness
guilt free buzz under neon lights
melting safe in sorrow,

how sweet the darkness beneath
your heart, flashing illusions
painted by blood red lips that have erupted
many fantasies into a Dali state,

reality on the rocks is momentary
as the senses play burn free in hell,
cultivate my pain and you'll have acres
of poison to erect your fountains

need dripping at the corner of your
mouth all is soft and tender as you
point your toes the sun come rising again
and I see me in your eyes for a moment
glistening as you part your lips and I find

the first taste of poison
exhilarating.



Amir Elzeni, USA

untitled by Fiona Dunn

Ex-er-cise is
Spelt Wii
Fat from too many plastic boxes
Glutenised by a myriad of facile images
Anaesthetised by alcopops -
An anthem for doomed youth.




Fiona Dunn, Edinburgh, Scotland

Edit by Chris Major

Five, was all that
remained of a packet
prescribed the month.
Family sit in constant
vigil and talk at her;
awkward stiff sentences
hoping for a crack
to jemmy light 'tween
'is' and 'was'.
Life now paused,
heart just a bloody

stand by button
for hoped brain activity
to a monitor screen.

They wait for
joy or sadness :
prayers of thanks
and long recovery ;
or enough ICU noise
to bleep-bleep-bleep
certain words from a
lifetime of angry questions....


Chris Major, UK

Her Words of Colour by Melanie Bishop

When she spoke
her words became
shades of silver and gray
Filling the morning mist
rising from her body
with a rainbow of thoughts
In her mind
she could see herself
covered in their silky touch.
Colors sparkled as she moved
breathing in and out
she walked
shimmering
colors swirling around her
In a maze she walked
while jeweled tones fell
gently beneath her feet.
Her eyes opened upon the morning world
seeing what others could not
The color of her words
filled her with wonder
as her laughter echoed
in silver and gray


Melanie Bishop, New York, USA

Sepia & Song by Gloria Wimberley

Sepia seeping
into the Perfect Picture
but there's no camera around
to capture our gentle swaying
in the kitchen
or her baby head lying warmly on my shoulder
or my arms enveloping her lovingly
as I mint in my weary mind this
mother-daughter moment...
(Plaintive Scottish fiddle-song on the radio)
hugs us parenthetically
as we continue swaying silently as one
her tears long since dried; her eyes long since closed
her long, dark eyelashes are doll perfection
As the song lilts to an end, my own eyes are moist;
I'm wishing with a mother's wistfulness
that the permanence of sepia could seep in
seal us / bond us in wordless bliss
for a lifetime of refrains, not bridges




Gloria Wimberley, Florida, USA

untitled by Cynthia Marie

and

he sighs
there

like a girl
with her first love

as the virgin learns his body scripture.


Cynthia Marie, New York, USA