I saw Quinn again tonight, first time in years, sailing the streets, weaving through people, collar up, head cocked, arms like telephone poles sunk in the pockets of his overcoat,
the brilliant pennants of his long red hair waving over the stadium where years ago he took my handoff, bucked off guard, found the free field, and heaved like a bison into the end zone.
Tonight, when Quinn wove by me muttering, I should have handed him the ball. I should have screamed, “Go, Quinn, go!” He would have stiff-armed the lamppost, found the free field again, left all in his wake to gawk
as he hit the end zone and circled the goal posts, whooping and laughing, flinging the ball like a spear over the cross-bar, back to Iraq.
Ancient Heart Magazine is here again! Now based in Sydney, Australia. After a number of years of publication I decided a while ago to give it a miss. But, poetry being poetry, I couldn't keep away and now here we are again; all new and bright and fresh. In a slightly different format, namely that of the blog.
Submission Guidelines: Leave a comment on the latest blog post/poem containing one poem, your pen name, home town, country and optional email address. In due course your poem may or may not appear on the blog/mag. I will not enter into any correspondence or acknowledge receipt of submissions or feel obliged to answer any other queries. I just want to get as many great poems as possible out there.
Ancient Heart Magazine P.O. Box 953 Gladesville NSW 2111 Australia
Some articles on this blog format may be partly or wholly sponsored by third parties. The editor will commit himself to retaining the relevant characteristics of the poetry magazine as much as possible at all times.