Josk Ekroy

Chapter VII

The love-making of crocodiles
     takes place under
the sludge-dark water. They warble,
splatter and rub the undersides
of yellow-white jaws while spearhead
      whip-tails flounder.

She elevates her head, they nudge
   with questing snouts,
he strokes her body’s roughcast ridge
with both forelegs. They arch their backs,
blow bubbles, play games of twinesnake,
   then with half-shut

eyes, he surveys her, positions
   her with webbed feet
and mounts. Buoyant copulation
lasts for fifteen minutes. She lays
her eggs in sand some yards away,
   well out of sight.

The lovemaking of turtles takes
   place off the shore
of their birth. They’ve found their way back
over one thousand five hundred
miles, navigated the sun’s road,
   by earth’s threadbare

magnetic field. The males cruise, stir,
   quarrel over
arriving females. The victor
bites her shell, clasps her carapace
with his flippers. He forces her
    down, she hovers,

sinks, strives to rise to breathe the air.
   They play and plough
the water for six tumbling hours,
till the male breaks off to patrol,
but she must climb her domicile,
   the beach, to lay.

The love-making of humans takes
   place deep among
a field of straggling charlock
whose petals fleck them with mustard,
or in the woods kissed by bistort.
   Birth is in Spring.



*Josh Ekroy's poems appear in Smith's Knoll, Rialto, The SHOp, and many others. He won second prize in the Doire Press Chapbook Competition 2012 and has a poem in The Best of British Poetry 2011 (Salt).

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Maureen Weldon

Watching the Feather
 
Standing on the rooftop
in a red coat,
 
he watched the feather float,
first higher then spiralling
 
out of control.
In the cold snowy air
 
many heads turned upwards.
Which open mouth
 
would swallow the feather?
He shivered,
 
just his toes and knees.
It was hard to wonder,
 
as first his neck,
then his skull, turned to ice.


*Maureen Weldon keeps doing crazy things (sometimes, just sometimes good). Recently she was awarded by  The Sons of Camus Writers International Journal where twenty five of her poems were showcased. 

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Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I Look all Crazy
 
Don’t tell me what to do.
I am the voice of reason.
 
My one blind eye sees all.
The other one sees nothing.
 
I look all crazy in
the mirror. I am not who
 
I think I am. I make
funny faces. I open up
 
the cabinet. I hide
the poison pills there. There is
 
an invisible ghost
there who basks in silence. I
 
keep the ghost inside there
all alone and despondent.



*Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico.  His first poetry book, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press. He works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA.  His poetry chapbooks have been published by Deadbeat Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, New Polish Beat, and Poet's Democracy.  His chapbook, Songs For Oblivion, will be published by Alternating Current Press in 2012.
 

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David Mac

After Lorca
 
I will sip orange until she finds me
I will only play with cats
 
I will hang my thoughts in the bare winter trees
I won’t laugh like birds
 
But I will wait through these hard ages
I will curl up to the sky
 
For while she is gone
I will hurt like stone       



 
*David Mac is one of the greatest forklift drivers to ever emerge from the UK. He has been employed all over Luton, Dunstable, and Bedfordhire. Sometimes he writes words that have been published in many mags, sites and journals. Sometimes he screams like a terrible walrus.

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Matthew Friday

Held
 
Middle-aged woman with long black hair,
thin stem of a body
sunglasses on a grey day
stops to sniff roses outside
the Parish Church of the Holy Gospel,
bending each one down to her
drawing in each offering
holding herself there,
now here in this poem.




*Matthew Friday is a writer, professional storyteller and primary school teacher. By all means check out the results at: www.matthewfriday.com

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yu chengyou

 

*Poem extract 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. You are welcome to visit www.stem-of-quietly-disarrayed-fertility.com.

*Image by Romit Berger who says  “I am a graphic designer. I met my very dear friend, Helen Pletts, in Prague, several years ago. Helen’s inspiration has led my graphic design career into that magical realm which combines illustration and poetry, and our creative wings continue to connect our souls through time and distance.”

 

 

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On Love and Winter

Love symbols spoken in a Chinese winter
 
I am grown tall in the telling of the yellow
that the dance leaves a signal for,
 
finishing the ridge in a luminous squall,
wanting your white elk-breath and the hoof-pound
 
at my door.  I am the first blade turned black in winter
curled blunt; red-throat-berry-threading the snow.
 
I am the first blade turned black in winter,
twisting under, green-blade-wanting.

*Poem by Helen Pletts
whose two collections, Bottle bank and For the chiding dove, are both
published by YWO/Legend Press (supported by The Arts cialischeapprice.com/ Council) and
available on Amazon. ‘Bottle bank’ was longlisted for The Bridport
Poetry Prize 2006, under Helen’s maiden name of Bannister. You are
welcome to visit www.stem-of-quietly-disarrayed-fertility.com.

*Image by Romit Berger who says  “I am a graphic designer. I met my very dear friend, Helen Pletts, in Prague, several years ago. Helen’s inspiration has led my graphic design career into that magical realm which combines illustration and poetry, and our creative wings continue to connect our souls through time and distance.”

Read More