Things

Things they add meaning
to this menagerie
answers to what lies in the abyss
forget cheap talk about the rain
and exit/entry strategies
what does it matter?
when Im surrounded by these things

Time ceases
to have meaning
Bright lights and sweet spots
forget cheap talk about hunger
and black dogs
I can out run them all
when Im surrounded by all these 
wondrous things

Contact is overrated
Art is for people lost in a void
Heroes in sweatpants
living the dream
forget about shelter and love
fairytales are the new agenda
as I'm surrounded by these things.


Ashley
Leamington Spa, UK
ashleygriffiths@hotmail.com

Abandonment

Upon hearing the once
eminent author had 
abandoned all hope
of finishing his novel

I felt sympathy for the poor
volume, half-done, limping
to a nearby shelf to find
the climb too stressful

Gone the simple words
that do not try to impress,
unknown the future
of the much-loved main
character.



JD DeHart 
Tennessee,
US 

A Matter of Preference

Fred prefers a mouse
connected by a wire
to his keyboard.
Walt prefers a mouse

that’s portable, able 
to roam over the desk
in Walt’s big hand.
For Walt the danger is

the mouse may slip
and fall off the desk,
hit the floor and break.
That's happened twice.

Fred prefers a wife, one 
he’s had for 30 years.
Walt prefers a fiancé,
a new one every year.


Donal Mahoney
donalmahoney@charter.net 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, US and has had poems published in Ancient Heart Magazine and other publications in the United States, Europe, Asia and Africa.

Passage

Roots are deep
the trees stretch
toward the ether

and within the womb
of dark brown soil.

The sky changes
like time
and leaves shades

of purple and blue
amid a cacophony
of wasted foliage.



Sneha Subramanian Kanta
United Kingdom 

No Silence

Hell is the absence
of ink with twelve more
ideas rolling out,
soon to be forgotten

An absence of voice,
itch in the throat,
when a word must be
spoken for reason

Last bits of thought
unrecorded, unexpressed
on a sullen afternoon,
embracing silence

When a sentence would
heal, banishing tension.

JD DeHart 
Tennessee, US. 

A Winter Buffet

A bright winter day
and not a leaf left
on this skeleton 

tree teeming 
with sparrows
chirping and hopping

branch to branch 
waiting for the feeder
to be free of cardinals

juncos and jays 
bickering for seed
while on the ground

four doves
stroll in silence
feasting on spilled 

seed near the tree
where a fat squirrel 
sits with tail high 

in a question mark
ready to dive 
and scatter them all


Donal Mahoney
donalmahoney@charter.net 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, US and has had poems published in Ancient Heart Magazine and other publications in the United States, Europe, Asia and Africa 

The Garden of Thieves

A blissful story written upon pages,
where I carved your name in remorse.
I dreamt you singing in silver cages,
while resting my blame upon the chords.

Told me the poetry you wrote before
the lyrics still unhurried upon your lips,
while ashes and cries you sorrowfully mourn
your brief, nostalgic, evanescent kiss. 

Dancing along the edges of forever,
you sang a melody of what once was.
As the doves and ravens all cry, “Never”,
I know you’ll bury your innocent lust.

For life, for love, for whom I could tell.
I watch the greetings and the silent goodbyes. 
And shadows, the weeping, while the bell knells. 
You disappear gracefully, along the edges of twilight. 



Robin Goodfellow,
Denton, US.

Robin Goodfellow has had poems published in the online magazine Nature Writing, as well as the Healing Poetry and the Haiku Journal. She enjoys listening to Owl City and rewriting classic fairytales