Gone over ~ Tim Youngs

That bare patch
where you stood
playing catch

is still there
brought to mind
by the knock

on our door.
A child for
his ball back.

Soirée ~ Tim Youngs

The plastic coaster:

its pattern obscured


by cigarette burns

and Mother’s anger

Drift ~ Tim Youngs


red spots
on Dad’s white Cortina

standing
in our Bedfordshire driveway

particles
blown from the Sahara

falling
with home counties rain






Tim Youngs’ poems have appeared in several print and online magazines, including The Interpreter’s House, The Journal, Lighthouse, London Grip, Poetry Salzburg Review and Staple. 

Minds Under Arrest ~ Paul Waring

they chart choreography
and mechanism of moves             
then thunder down doors
at the dark side of dawn
with barking mouths and feet


it's in their dna
to remove fibres of yours
distilling essence for clues
from every nook and cranny


scour your sink for germs
from scrubbed hard drives
of mind   words and images
lurking deep behind eyes


strip search sheets for signs
of wrong dreams  examine
soiled linen of thought take
some away for questioning

On Nights ~ Paul Waring

Darkness draws curtains
in bible black ink. Bat clouds
suffocate corners of sky


as another canvas dies
moon magnets drag corneas
of shuttered eyes towards sleep


where memory knits
rows of experience
that scarf into morning.

Memory Thief ~ Paul Waring

the past slips in and out from
cubby-holes of consciousness
keeping the known
from the knowing
dropping clues
onto tips of tongues
agonisingly close to recall        
details shredded by thieving
magpies of memory, now
abandoned like party guests
waiting to be introduced.



Paul Waring, a retired clinical psychologist lives in Wirral, UK. He once designed menswear and, in the 1980's, was a singer/songwriter in several Liverpool bands. His work has been published in Reach Poetry and will feature in forthcoming issues of Eunoia Review, Amaryllis and Northampton Poetry.

Poem ~ Buket Ozgel

I have an imaginary dog.
He is only around in the presence of dark souls.
The moment I hear the woof woof sound,
I produce a bell from my pocket and show that
it is not good to condition oneself
to sheer animosity beforehand.

Save that I do not ring the bell.


 Buket is Turkish who is now writing in English.

None ~ Buket Ozgel

That is your mouth
That is your chin
Your pretty chin
Your kissable chin

Those are your eyes
Diffidently looking around
Then staring into my heart
And those currently blind


 

3 Sonnets ~ Akaky Akakievich

A Sonnet to the Siren Aurora
High Heeled Sandals, Small fangs, large mouth

Especially total from the harping on control which thrusts out over the grain
And still will flatten the mighty not yet set to fill out over the musty plight
Was a chance to gather up the taunting from her not covetous prompt eke
Of the chilling but perpendicular sapping can be to truly hide the recent sane
Of whomever is a trill of the perpetual stalked along the roadways is tight
That blinking has elevated the toast of the more so her shoes were not weak

From the same mountainous ravished by the storm of the fluent pushed past
The resident must prevail over the alterations have seemed to resist the womb
Which centers on the wasting of the mere perilous how it can be the salty
Of each of the rather mere figurines are a proud until there is no more fast
Of the larger side of her mouth must be prepared to envelope the eager tomb
That hastens a filled with the rapid ease is not the reach to distill the bulky 



A Sonnet to the Siren Bella
Somewhat pregnant, black boots, black leggings 

Seems to have forgotten much of what she remembered to be the start
This captivating the grievance from about how you could tell each flippant
Towering caught between the stomachs of heartaching and just to realize
The scintillating has pushed past the tunnels of what can heap on a dart
To the frequent exercised and moments were most forgiven with a distant
Calming allegiance was there to attain the leggy smarter for her to idealize

Here around the flocked to contain only the hapless victims were a solid
Enough relentless and poured onto the framework was still to meager over
The eating away at the bulbous filled to assume the milky presence knows all
That seems to bite into the hardly made for her size was the leftover and pallid
To continue the running about was not a faster race to heed the flow moreover
Can restrict the actual pagan testing is present to find most of the shattered fall 



A Sonnet to the Siren Bethany 
Excessively tall, headbands, extreme jealousy 

Positively elated by the mere chance of the beholden to a stretch must
Make the lasting endurance pale with the gleaming headway made choice
To flounder about the streak of the mildest forms of revolting kind of spots
Have dreaded her extreme height with the lure of a castle and not a thrust
What else can have to remain with the revolved and so petty it can be a voice
Which matters most to the heeded and starlit convention knows not the blots

Whatever can handle the dignity of another to surround the really meek
Is the cheeky foremost proud enough to conduct like the hibernated of what
Has entailed the frosted over emotive stance takes not a verily stood to ease
The reign of who was the headbanded and proud with the masterly so sleek
It can prevail with the windiest of the sorrowful here it can blame the shut
Of what is up to stand over her sleekest memories have proudly made the tease 

Akaky resides in Pittsburgh, PA.  He writes only Sonnets. His current cycle, of which these are a part of, is a cycle about Sirens. He has  also written cycles of Sonnets about Witches and Goddesses. A number of the Witch and Goddess sonnets have been published during  the last year in various publications.Akaky enjoys fast cars and listening to Mozart and Bruckner. He also enjoys 19th century Russian and French literature.

Disaster ~ Sally Barrett

Forget it
I said
Difficult
To, said
He and I
Cried and
Wept and said
Fuck you
Then I don't
Care any
More but I
Did in
Honesty
You should leave
He said
I don't want
To said
I and he
Grew cold
And frosty.
Shaken,
He said please
I can't
Cope tonight
No I
Won't I said
Let's sort it
Out I
Said. I can't
He said
I don't trust
You. And
I shouted
Please I
Love you so
Much but
He looked far
Away
And said no.
I walked out
The door,
The door that
He paint
Ed and I
Didn't
Slam it, I
Shut it
Carefully
Wishing
I'd taken
More care
With the love.
I went to
The pub
I hadn't
Drank for
Years and I
Knew it
Wouldn't help
So I
Turned and walked
To the
Park. It was
Dark and
So lonely
I sat on
The swing
and swung for
A while
And I was
Scared but
Not because
Of the
Dark in the
Park but
Because I
Had lost the
True love
Fuck I said
Fuck it's
Bad now this
Time and
The tears rolled
Like salt
water and
I thought
What should I
Do now
So I phoned
My friend
And said help
Ok she
Said come
Round and stay
Here if
You've got
No where
To go. Thanks
I said
But fuck I
Said. She
Said I know
Loser
Idiot
But she cared
Even though
I hated
Myself and
My life
And my fuck
Up world
And I knew
It was
My own fault
Which made
It all a
Lot worse
He sat in
The room
Head in his
Hands and
Thought what did
I do
Wrong. Oh god
He said
I can't take
Her back
That's the end