Life of a Candle

Count the carbons
fifteen, twenty, twenty-five
yes, linked, bound, binding
together into a cold set.

Useless,
until fire
lights me,
then,

Burning coldly
casting our amber light
into rooms.

But what of it?
who counts the candle
save a monastery
pressing prayers into his hands

lighting,
extinguishing and lighting again.

day after day.

when I’m burned out
spilling my liquid
useless short wick,

then I’m waste
just that collection
of carbon refuge.

Collection: 'Natural Law'

Dave Barber
Albuquerque, New Mexico
United States

Where the Mountain Took Him

Imagine this room,
stain on the dark wooden floor
hole where the gas line ran
where I sat up worried
I’d killed everyone.
A room wet with guilt
a shrine to ignorance
and naivety,
a manger of pain.
This room changed
but remained the same.
When I kept falling down
it made the same crash.
When I returned,
it was for sewing-
(Nothing else really)

My feet creak the floor
boards giving under the weight
of years, or under my shadow-
light
shadow
both mixed.
No shadow of turning.

Dave Barber
Albuquerque, New Mexico
United States
(Upcoming Book: 'Don’t Ask Those Questions')

Eternal Return

Before the day my heart was shattered,
My thoughts eternally return.
A perfect likeness won’t discern.
Enochian doused fractions whispered
‘The price of love is ego martyred.’
Father Time’s trapped in passion’s urn.
Before the day my heart was shattered,
My thoughts eternally return.
I was a mouldering moon fettered
To orbit radiance that burned.
A stagnant satellite, I yearn
For those days when each moment mattered
Before the day my heart was shattered:
My thoughts eternally return.

Justin Ehrlich
Essex
England
lordhenry@hotmail.co.uk

ISSN awarded

You may have noticed the ISSN appearing in the top right-hand corner of the screen. I just had confirmation form a very friendly contact at the National Library of Australia that I am allowed to continue to use the existing ISSN here in Australia. I always derive a sense of excitement when an ISSN is awarded. It denotes official approval of one's efforts. Good stuff.

Soul Flare

I sent you a wish last night.
Just for you.
While you were sleeping,
And I was awake,
I sent it marked and wrapped.
I tapped it with kisses.
When it was gone I missed it.

Did you get my wish?
You never replied.
Although you didn't need to,
I'd have liked it if you had.
I feel less complete now, but satisfied.
I fell asleep when it was done.
I was tired.

So just in case it was lost in transit,
Just to check,
What it did feel like to receive?
Could you believe it?
Did you laugh? Or cry?
Did you sleep through it?
Did you weep?

Really, I'd like a reply.
I'd like to know why
I'm without a soul.
You never said a word.
I never heard a thank you,
Or a murmur.

It was a gift you couldn't compare.
Just something I drummed up
In my sleepy time.
A soul flare.

Natalie Williams
Liverpool,
United Kingdom