Smiles are fake
And this isn’t paradise
We’re stubborn and cold
Counting working bars on the electric heater
And sputtering, drinking whiskey, to warm our
Bodies and we remain indifferent in conversations
Which shouldn’t make it passed these thick walls.
Continue reading “Train Wrecks by Mark McConville”
I like to travel
but I don’t like
what I like
is living in places,
and turning them
and getting to know it,
the way they say the locals
Continue reading “Microwaved meals in little rooms somewhere by D.S. Maolalai”
Doris is taking her usual stroll on the beach. She’s not as fast those days and the footsteps she leaves on the ochre ground are so close together, almost forming a line. A snail trail, she thinks.
How many times has she walked on this beach? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
Continue reading “Where the old teahouse used to be by B.F. Jones”
“Do you remember-”
“Probably not.” A veiny, wrinkled hand smacks a veiny, wrinkled forearm, causing the speaker to cackle at his friend’s expense. His eyes crinkle further, eyes turning into small crescent moons, crows-feet becoming more pronounced.
“Shut up, you. I’m trying to be sentimental.” His friend adjusts her glasses, puffing out little bursts of air to show her disapproval. She tightens the shawl around her. He knew he’d never stop being in awe of her, even after all these years, so he just smiles and motions for her to continue. Continue reading “Plato’s Never Heard of Us by Lorenza Shabe”
My masterpiece is growing stale,
And I am sadly feeling soulless
In this world of two sided swords
My mark is rubbing off, like flaked paint,
And the coffee is cold in my shaky hand.
Continue reading “Silence is Bliss by Mark McConville”
The little girl’s my favourite by a long way. My mum would have said ‘she’s a bonny thing’ and she’d have been right. She kneels in front of me and we talk about all sorts and her smile always cheers me up no matter what kind of day I’m having. Last time she came she said that she wanted me to know that people suffer in life not in death. It’s a funny thing for a little girl to say but my visitors do talk about some funny things. I’ve thought about it a lot since she said it. She offered me her hand too. Her smile was so sweet and kind and I thought about saying yes, and I nearly did it. I nearly took her hand. Then I said no. No, not yet. And she was gone.
Continue reading “Forget-me-not by Jess Doyle”
All three lived together in
that stuffy stone and corrugated iron
Welsh cottage at the foot of
a scrappily-wooded hill,
born there, never left there, died there
our two aunts and an uncle. Continue reading “Alice, Maub & Alvert by Tim Goldstone”