Yuanbing Zhang translates Hongri Yuan




The Wine of the Rainbow

The sunshine wrote a line of words in the snow
told you that the door of the vault of heaven was opening
new interstellar cities would come
illuminate human eyes submerged by the sea.

When the giants returns from outer space
they will bring the poems of diamonds that lighting soul
the earth will be as transparent as a golden smile
the sun will sprinkle the wine of the rainbow.















Hongri Yuan (b. 1962) is a Chinese mystic poet and philosopher. His poetry has been widely published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria. He has authored a number books including Platinum City, The City of Gold, Golden Paradise, Gold Sun and Golden Giant.

Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), who is a Chinese poet and translator, works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District, Jining City, Shandong Province, China. He can be contacted through his email- 3112362909@qq.com.

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Martin Potter





Sun-consuming needle-
Leaf cluster crowned
A sheath of rough wrinkle
Bark that treasures red

Pushing light wooded
Works resinous squeeze
Out of adverse climate
Clenched fist of a tree



Martin Potter (https://martinpotterpoet.home.blog) is a poet and academic, and his poems have appeared in Acumen, The French Literary Review, Eborakon, Scintilla, and other journals. His pamphlet In the Particular was published by Eyewear in December, 2017.

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Fiona Larkin





Dark as ink this fig on your outstretched hand
what kind of offering is it
please verify

I can’t figure out what to do with
the slumped weight of it

though your voice is persuasive enough
to return me to blossom

could I place it with reverence in the appointed bowl
a purple-black shadow multiplying
in polished copper

or tear it in half to smear on my wrists
soured sweetness in the dry-down

the fig’s florets opened in darkness
innocent of the wasp

winter tightens around me
flames creep back to life

the fig’s stored summer is barely plausible



Fiona Larkin’s debut pamphlet, A Dovetail of Breath, was published by Rack Press in 2020 http://rackpress.blogspot.com. She was highly commended by the Forward Prizes 2019 in the Best Single Poem category. She organises innovative poetry events with Corrupted Poetry https://corruptedpoetry.com/corrupted-poetry-events.

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Yvonne Amey





you gone
I dream I’m chasing darkness
through our castle


souvenir scarf
in ocean-green
I wrap Australia around my neck


alone on a foreign shore
silver gulls dine with me



Yvonne Amey received her MFA from the University of Central Florida. Her poems have appeared in Tin House, Hobart, and elsewhere. Three of her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes.

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Hilary Watson




Echo Chamber

Women are bleeding in the back alleys, alcoves,
covering their breasts and babies’ heads, working
extra shifts for taxed Tampax and school vests.

They smoke to forget, smoke for an excuse
to leave the room, they are laughing, weeping
into wine in well-lit bars the right side of town.

They track themselves via satellites, weigh up stats
against taxi price. Winter draws their cages in
as lamplight pocks their path.



Hilary Watson lives in Cardiff. She graduated from the University of Warwick and was a Jerwood/Arvon Mentee. She was shortlisted for the Verve Poetry Prize 2020, the Troubadour Poetry Prize 2018 and has been published in the Magma, Butcher’s Dog, The Interpreter’s House, amongst other places. @poetryhilary (twitter) www.hilarywatson.co.uk


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Luke Emmett





An easy work of love
taking minds to new
vistas, easy work and
simple things — say
“you are beautiful”
then remixing it
to a new medium —
a thing more plastic.
My language is mostly
verbs; it’s liberal,
and easy to work
into its moulds



Luke Emmett has previously appeared in the Fortnightly Review, Stride, and The Curly Mind. He’s interested in how appetite might make language self sufficient, especially its images. Prynne sent him a letter. He is is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

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Frank Dullaghan




How to Escape and Other Theories
For Mary

My sister sings me to sleep
from half a world beyond,
and I sink into the pool of night
with an earful of song.

Outside, this foreign city closes
and I travel to Dundalk –
the Green Church, Castletown Road –
to a time in the past.

This is how close everything is,
the street, the buildings taking on
their old known shapes
and I, my soft-faced skin.

My past is always beside me,
as in the Block Theory of Time,
and my future not a step away:
all my selves are the same.

I’m already gone from this place.
Somewhere my bones turn yellow
or are burned and ground to dust
for the gluttonous stars to swallow.



Frank Dullaghan is an Irish writer who, at the time of his submission, is locked down in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He has four collections published by Cinnamon Press, most recently Lifting the Latch (2018). His work features widely in international journals, including in Cyphers, London Magazine, Magma, Nimrod, Poetry Review and Rattle.  @frankdullaghan

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