• by Dominik Slusarczyk Yesterday I showed you the stars today I show you the moon and you say both are rubbish so I get a cauldron and pour in unicorns and fairies and make you a rainbow and it brings a smile to your face but I regret it I regret it because I wanted…

    Read more: Comparisons
  • by John Brantingham My daughter is dating a nice man. I think that if it doesn’t work with him, she will not date anyone else. My father has me sign some forms related to his will. He tells me we always have to be prepared. He tells me what his gravestone will look like and…

    Read more: Today’s Decays
  • by Jeffrey Zable “When the customers look at us all they see is food!”the one chicken said to the other.“And all the owners see is money!” the other responded.“It’s a terrible fate!” the first chicken responded.“My advice is to stay as far back in the cage as possible if you want to live longer.”“You call…

    Read more: At the Slaughterhouse
  • by Dave Lewis Mist is rising off the water.Two swans become ghosts,before the sun sweeps them clean.Watching dippers under the waterfallI confide in you,tell you I like your dreams.Far off, a woodpecker yafflesas the sky gets heavywith deepest blue.Light is falling, soft upon you.I’m praising dappled thingsin the hush of my eyes.Then we’re sitting by…

    Read more: Near Tintern Abbey
  • by Dave Lewis the storm drainoverflowingmade milkyby the clay greyrainwatertwo starlingspecking breadI left outin the snowlast nightyou in your brightred cardiganyour eyes alldove-grey bluegawk out the windowat the winterscene sparklingwith coldas a siren wailsthrough the valley Dave Lewis is a writer, poet, and photographer from Cilfynydd. He read zoology at Cardiff University, taught biology in…

    Read more: Sunday Morning
  • by Mark J. Mitchell He left the cornerwhere only a green lightblinked. A breezeblew his DNA awaybut the blue tent stayed,loyal as a puppy,indifferent as his cat.She found his silverguitar strings danglingon a parking meter.She wove them, quick,into a net to gathertoo early blossoms. Mark J. Mitchell has been a working poet for 50 years.…

    Read more: Haight Street