Poetry Winter 2023 fiction all issues
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Cover
Susan Wilkinson
Selena Spier
Red From The West
& other poems
Pamela Wax
Talk Therapy
& other poems
Ana Reisens
Honey Water
& other poems
Mark Yakich
Necessary Hope
& other poems
Bridget Kriner
A Few Lies & a Truth
& other poems
Keegan Shepherd
Silver Queen
& other poems
Alaina Goodrich
Sacred Conflagration
& other poems
George Longenecker
Those Who Hunger
& other poems
Hailey Young
Ball Room
& other poems
Sébastien Luc Butler
Aubade
& other poems
Savannah Grant
Ever Since (v.2)
& other poems
grace (logan)
Dynamic
& other poems
Samantha Imperi
A Poem for the Ghosted
& other poems
Corinne Walsh
Limerence
& other poems
Kayla Heinze
Stop checking the score
& other poems
Richard Baldo
Chasing Through to Dawn
& other poems
Alex Eve
A moment
& other poems
Robert Michael Oliver
Prison Hounds
& other poems
Alex Eve
Saved
Save a ladder against the wall,
A candle perched upon a rung,
Save a distant magpie’s squall,
The room was empty,
It held no one.
Save three drawers, three doors,
The radiator pipes that sing.
Save some time—a gentle pause,
The room was empty,
It held nothing.
Save six panes along one edge,
And myself with memories some,
Save my secret, vital pledge,
The room was empty,
It held no one.
Save these things that I have said
—and some paint around the rim.
Save the wooden double bed,
The room was empty,
Yet held something.
A Moment
The wood let out a gentle sigh of smoke,
Which inched out and into the air.
It’s tail still held by the log’s blackened maw,
Flanked by white, chipped teeth.
The sigh began to twist and twirl and snake,
Ever rising upwards, until it wriggled free.
It knotted up—vermicular,
And teased apart, again and again,
Until its form flattened, faded, withered,
Dispersed upon the winds,
As a dwindling grey zephyr.
A gasp.
A sigh.
First Impressions
Still
I remember that night
You stood there, glassy-eyed
Wearing a look I’ve not seen before
Or since
A look of curiosity
Of intrigue
Of delight
Like I was a puzzle
You couldn’t wait to solve
Turning on your heels
You headed back to the crowd
And disappeared in the throng
Leaving me puzzled
About you
The Middle Place
Behind me, yesterday’s full moon hangs festive,
Bathing the buildings and trees,
In faint, gentle memory.
The future lies before me,
Concealed by shadows cast by tomorrow’s sun,
As it rises from behind the hill.
I urge to turn towards that familiar moon,
Which, now, is quickly dimming into obscurity,
and vagueness.
But the long grasses are blown over,
Like abatises,
As if to discourage retreat into nostalgia.
I can see tomorrow clearer now;
Some features on the bank illuminated by tomorrow’s sun,
And as I approach, it becomes now.
You Are the Sun
You are the Sun,
Whom everybody loves,
Bringing joy and warmth and light.
I, too, love your rays on my skin,
And am sad to watch you go, each night.
But, sometimes, it gets too much for You.
For, although you’re the biggest thing to me,
The Universe exerts even bigger forces on you,
Invisible and ominous,
Beyond my comprehension.
Such cosmic pressures tear away your skin,
And I see Your truth.
A rush of unbearable heat,
Causes my skin to boil, burn, blister.
Too hot to bear.
I plead for You to stop,
To shield me from the radiation,
That pours from Your core.
Like bug bites, like bullets,
No, like cannonballs.
When I show others,
My damaged skin, barely healing,
They only remark how,
You bring them warmth, not pain,
Nothing nuclear.
I know, someday,
Your fire will consume me,
Because, some days,
The worlds don’t revolve,
Around You.
Alex Eve
trained as a research scientist and now works in the academic publishing industry. Based near Cambridge, UK, he writes as a form of therapy. His poetry is about secrets; things desperate to be communicated but must remain unsaid.