Shall I Go Gently?   I’ve always been indecisive and I’m still undecided but soon I will have to choose whether to build my ship, and furnish it comfortably and sail with you gently into the dark into oblivion gently or to rage and fight scratch and bite kick and scream so that you have to drag me to where I will not follow gently into oblivion into the darkness the inevitability of the end whichever way I choose.       Mermaid   It was the change in her hair she noticed first growing now like harsh thin weed … Continue reading Lynn White

MYSELF AS ENEMY   I seek asylum from myself, but where can I go that does not involve walking across the broken borders of alcohol, or the splintered languages of medication?   Where can I go to escape the madness … Continue reading Edward Lee Poetry

Air Raid I poured boiling water over their nest; the red ants in a disorganised frenzy beneath the Yemeni sky, slowed, as their Duracells expired, to a limp, entangled heap.   Revenge can be honeyed vinegar spread on the ruins … Continue reading Dr Arthur Broomfield

Strip the Gilded     Urgency in your (impulsive)                          methods of transgression                     (faltering/declined transactions)          see just how                 flying off the (cuffed) handle           leaves us backwards                         from where we started   Aggression in your (silent)                            lack of observations                     (obstinate/scaredy-cat stubbornness)             careful not to cut                  too deep in (captured) organs               though there’s no threat of such                          if you forget to finger keys   There is a world           (life is full                   & more wealthy               than simple riches                         will ever offer)        that exists outside                       … Continue reading Scott Thomas Outlar

I play the perfect cover drive   Easing on to my back foot Saturday early early Summer, elevenish a sound of cork like popping the axe fall of linseeded willow throughout the mowing suburbs   My spine straight as a … Continue reading James Walton

Harvest   The corn has toiled all summer, gasping for air on hot days, braving storms, riding insymphony with westerly gusts.   An orange, blood moon arrives early and sits, ballooning, fixed low on the horizon, mesmerising the thin clouds,holding … Continue reading Matthew Spittles poetry