Memory is held by water – by Jackie Biggs

 

They sit on the wall of the old town bridge,
                that place of endless departures,
below the high castle walls.

Usually men, mostly at night,
                they are silent, unseen.
This one is young.

His white face looks down between
                black boots as his legs dangle.
He will enter me soon, or walk away.

When he slips in I will hold him close
                but I will not interfere
as he sinks into my depths

I will feel him among my green weeds
                and in my vortices
carry him in undercurrents

with migrating salmon
                over the silt and mud of my bed
to the sea and out on the full tide,

as all the other lads before him
                over countless centuries.
I never know why they choose me.

Maybe because I am dark and very cold
                there is certainty in my currents and eddies,
no chance for a change of mind.

Bitter as brine
                I am always here,
yet I flow forever, east to west,

tidal, so they are sure
                I will carry their cargo out,
take all their weight.

 

 

 

 

Jackie Biggs has had poetry published in many magazines and anthologies, both in print and online. Her first poetry collection, The Spaces in Between, was published in September 2015 by Pinewood Press (Swansea). She is a member of the four-woman poetry performance group, The Rockhoppers. Some of her poetry appears on her blog: http://jackie-news.blogspot.co.uk Twitter: @JackieNews

Coin – by Susan Castillo Street

 

I saw a coin in the water
and thought it might be a goldfish
or a lost spangle of sun
or a wish made by lovers
or a gambler rolling the dice.

 

 

 

Susan Castillo Street is an international woman of mystery. She has published three collections of poems, The Candlewoman’s Trade (2003), Abiding Chemistry,  (2015), and Constellations (2016), as well as in several leading journals and anthologies. She is owned by two cats, Dan and Eric.

Reggie has a Stroke – by Ron Salisbury

 

Three weeks after, he was incredibly horny, something
he hadn’t really thought about for the past fifteen years,
being preoccupied with the agenda of growing old. Arriving
quite suddenly after three bourbons and just before
the Late Show, now, everything made him horny,
the neighbor across the court, eggs—their round whiteness—
palm trees, the photo of his third ex-wife leaning against
a metal rail, Grand Canyon 2001 written on the back.
It was something like a catching-up, a burst runners get
when they finally spot the finish line.

 

 

 

Ron Salisbury has taught poetry for the past forty years. Since moving back to San Diego nine years ago, Ron has taught classes and workshops in poetry for San Diego Writers, Ink and the Encinitas Library. He graduated from San Diego State University with a Master in Fine Arts, Poetry in 2016. His book, Miss Desert Inn was the winner of the 2015 Main Street Rag Poetry Prize and was published in the fall of 2015. He has been widely published in journals and his manuscripts have been finalists in many manuscript contests.

Brynich Aqueduct – by Gareth Writer-Davies

 

the keystone
is the strength of any arch

the trick
of transporting one reach of water over another

the perch and roach
and others of the shallow trench

unaware of their suspension
continue

to feed and scrap
and even procreate (fifty feet up)

as if bricks and limestone
are sediment

and the drop to the river
a water-fall

the art
of snugging one stone against another

is the adaptation of habitat
by thought

an arch carved by a chisel
is still nature

 

 

 

 

Gareth Writer-Davies. Shortlisted for the Bridport Prize (2014 and 2017) and the Erbacce Prize (2014), commended in the Prole Laureate Competition (2015) and Prole Laureate winner in 2017. His pamphlet “Bodies”, was published in 2015  by Indigo Dreams and the pamphlet “Cry Baby” came out 2017. His first collection “The Lover’s Pinch” (Arenig Press) was published June, 2018.

Lady Godiva – by Kathleen Strafford

           Ode to Peeping Tom
                          I peep through corkscrew chinks in doorways
The summer moon has drawn his curtains
                             declaring all shutters and windows shut
                                                the wind is preparing a speech
                                                                 the trumpeters a fanfare
She didn’t choose the plucky pony with a spring in its step
                  instead the hot proud palfrey for his smooth ambling
See how she strokes his ears
                  pats his hind quarters enamoured with his shape
Notice how she bows her face in prayer
                               pushing her ringlets against round breasts
              swings her thigh
                      slips her Venus mound
                                 straddles velvet birds of paradise
                                     how fine threads of fur mingle
I don’t know if I’ve ever loved a fragrance
                                             half as much as her smell at midday

As her stud trots through fields of heather, the sun dressing her in lace
                                                                 purple brushing her fringe
I imagine the dance of the seven veils
                                        & how quickly John        lost his head

 

 

 

Kathleen Strafford has been published in magazines & online:  Interpreter’s House, Butcher’s Dog, Fat Damsel, Ink Sweat and Tears, Panoply, and various anthologies. Her Own Language published by Dempsey and Windle

 

 

Stalled – by Kushal Poddar

 

Until here. Here
we abandon our car,
and everywhere-
the darkness of life.
The life of darkness.

I light a smoke, observe
the squirrels of your thoughts
leaping through
the open talons of a numb eagle.

Here our car becomes
a part of the forest
grown out of our hearts.
My hands rest on my knees,
slightly bent, and
my back shines in the last of the light.

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar presently lives at Kolkata and edited the online magazine Words Surfacing and authored The Circus Came To My Island (Spare Change Press), A Place For Your Ghost Animals (Ripple Effect Publishing), Understanding The Neighborhood (BRP), and Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems (BRP).

My Mother Came Back as a Pigeon – by Michelle Diaz

 

She was happier than ever,
that look had gone from her eyes,
the spill-angst frenzy.

She was quiet, we could relate,
she didn’t peck or jar.
I could breathe.

I rolled her a grape, she was grateful,
watched her ease around the garden.
I was so pleased for her.

No more church or paranoia,
no incessant nervous talk or hypochondria.

That’s when I knew there was a God.

 

 

 

Michelle Diaz lives in the strange town of Glastonbury. She has been writing poetry for a few years and has been published by Prole, Amaryllis and Strix. She ran a poetry group in Glastonbury for two years. She is a member of Wells Fountain Poets. She has a son with Tourette Syndrome and had a peculiar childhood. Both these things inspired her to write. Without poetry her soul would be incredibly hungry.