Debarun Sarkar


when stories of crocodile did not belong in the zoo library

under moonlight
load shedding was routine

before dinner on the front yard porch
grandmother laid out a cot
and grandfather told stories

under the moonlight my mother
would narrate her greatest childhood mysteries
she would inquire grandfather every night
when it rains why doesn’t the whole sky fall?
who is singing inside a radio?

grandfather’s narrative irrevocably
moved and navigated
to his years of navigation across the borders
when border security existed only on paper

on the boats and near the house
crocodiles haunted the silence of the night

with men who came out of their mouths alive
and men who killed them in the slush

riding the boat away to sell merchandise
hoping for the storm to not strike




Debarun Sarkar currently lives in Calcutta and spends most of his time juggling between freelancing and writing. Recent works have appeared in or are forthcoming in 1:1000, Visual Verse, Former People, Burningword, The Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles, Your One Phone Call, In Between Hangovers, the murmur house, among others.


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Beth McDonough




Aegopodium podagraria, a Praise Song.


Now, I’ll choose to love
this bishop weed’s

I shall admire
his knit-wire roots,
tenacious crazing
tangle- down
to anybody’s

I will hymn
some centurion’s aromatic
salad – grab
that verve and grist,
salute its Gallovidian indefatigability
Roman invincibility,
roaming in Scotland’s slushing wet
or three-month frost.

I will now shout
exactly how to pound
tasty wild-form pesto, not accept
some basil-puny
imposter from
the Co.

I can sing at starry undie whites
of fecund umbel flowers,
encourage them to sprint
to seed – should  their under-
soil capilliaries prove
inadequate. I’d hate
to be unable to worship
this mighty
bishop weed.




Beth McDonough’s poetry appears in Gutter, Antiphon and elsewhere; she reviews in DURA. Her pamphlet Handfast with Ruth Aylett (2016, Mother’s Milk Books, available on Amazon UK) explores family experiences – Aylett’s of dementia and McDonough’s of autism.

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Aimée Keeble


Arthur and Merlin’s Cave

Rain sick,
Bound by the small hours-
He is fading
Walks through the moors,
Past the hard ponies,
Their hair lumpy with burs and their noses raw with nettle rash
The sheep skitter like a dropped bag of pellets
As he goes
He pulls at the earth,
Tearing lengths of green and brown
In his tired hands and the dirt
Stains him cleaner
Things to build a prayer with,
Mud is a good filler
Nothing but sharp toothed patience
And hungry time
To battle his thundering heart
The rain bends his back with watery fingers
And the cave sticks its shadow tongue at him
As he breaks through the gloom
Into the hollow dry
“You forgot to teach me about love”
He cries into the space of endless all
And waits for a reply,
Knowing that to ask is to answer



Aimée Keeble‘s work has been published by the Lighthouse Journal, Forward Poetry, and ink, sweat and tears.  She has exhibited her work at Flint Gallery in Norwich, theprintspace in London, and the Supertte Gallery in Paris as a part of Never Turn Back, a photographic project headed by Dean Chalkley. The two have collaborated on a publication titled One which focuses on the idea of subculture and is available through Antenne Books. Aimée is currently the assistant editor and journalist for FreightEurasia magazine. She is the grand-niece of beat writer and poet Alexander Trocchi.

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Kiriti Sengupta




Quietude and loneliness


for god’s sake, don’t take silence for granted

it is loud, hypnotizing and over-rated

it has a spiritual world charm attached to it

you never know if it would declare you dead


and then, you can see the resurrected spirit

approaching your stillness and challenging the world around

to leave you alone






Kiriti Sengupta is the author of the bestselling trilogy My Glass of Wine [autobiographic poetry], The Reverse Tree [nonfictional memoir] and Healing Waters Floating Lamps [poetry]. Sengupta is based at Calcutta, India. His website:

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Anthony Lawrence






The once-in-a-thousand-year-flood came and went.

We listened as though blood were a tide

our bedroom an ark. At dawn we understood

the full extent of what had occurred:

as there was no sun, we attended a critical mass

in our underwear. A town went by, followed

by a stunned population, all wearing plover masks.

You were at the window, giving a commentary

on the direction of the wind. I lay on the bed

listening to a public broadcast of the dangers

of being out alone, after dark. You reported

people walking through the steady rain

of a pamphlet-drop. I put the words diaspora

and exodus up for discussion. Your voice broke

with news of street executions being carried out

by gangs by torchlight. They say that hardship

calls forth the best and worst in relationships.

The sky was red, the ground white with ash.

By such extremes were our differences exposed.




Anthony Lawrence has published sixteen books of poems and a novel. He teaches Creative Writing and Writing Poetry at Griffith university, Gold Coast, Queensland and lives on the far north coast of New South Wales. Click here for more:


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Word & Image by Helen Pletts and Romit Berger







Words by Helen Pletts ( ) whose two collections, Bottle bank and For the chiding dove, are both published by YWO/Legend Press (supported by The Arts Council) and available on Amazon. ‘Bottle bank’ was longlisted for The Bridport Poetry Prize 2006, under Helen’s maiden name of Bannister. Working collaboratively on Word and Image with Romit Berger, illustrator, since 2012. Word and Image Cards now on sale in The Over Gallery .

Image by Romit Berger who says “I am a graphic designer and artist, living in Prague for the past 
ten years. In 2008 I joined a writing group – English is not my native
 language but I graduated from an international school, so it is a part 
of my life ever since. I feel that the dual process of finding words to
 describe mind images and illustrating written words, opens a new 
exciting dimension of creativity for me.


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