Susan Taylor




Whipped In


When you walk idyllic countryside,

spare a thought for the hunted ones;

red hairs on a barbed wire fence

caught where Madam Fox bombed through.


The chase so hard her body fluids boiled

as she collapsed in a patch of undergrowth.

Master-of-Hounds watched his Whipper-In

with blood specks on his white horse.





Susan Taylor, one time shepherd, is now working on a poetry show about the benefit of wolves. She has seven published collections and a new pamphlet, The Weather House, written in collaboration with Simon Williams and published by Indigo Dreams.


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Susan Richardson





The call to bright lights is a whisper,

tempting souls into the clutches of

dreams that hang on a celluloid precipice.

Los Angeles turns us into letches

who lurk under the wings of angels,

covered in soot from generations

of sweeping up discarded morals.

Decrepit men, slathered in wealth,

chase the skirts of simpering women

with molded cheek bones and noses

they weren’t born with.

Carbon copy blondes trample

over the backs of comrades, and reach

through barbed wire for a glimmer of fame.

They come in droves and shed their skins,

willing to do unthinkable things for

just a drop of starlight on their tongues.





Susan Richardson is living, writing and going blind in Los Angeles. She shares a home with an Irishman, 2 pugs and 2 cats. She was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa in 2002, and in addition to poetry, she writes a blog called Stories from the Edge of Blindness. Her work has been published in: Stepping Stones Magazine, Wildflower Muse, The Furious Gazelle, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Chantarelle’s Notebook, Foxglove Journal, Literary Juice, Sick Lit Magazine, Amaryllis, and The Anapest Journal, with pieces forthcoming in Eunoia Review.  She was also awarded the Sheila-Na-Gig Winter Poetry Prize and will be featured in the Literary Juice 2018 Q&A Series.

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Niamh Twomey




Your Road


It’s funny

When you get to know a road

So well–

Your road.


You know

Without looking up

When the green light

Is giving you the nod.


You know

To speed up

Past the house with the dog

Who chases cars.


You know

The semi-tone leap

Over the hump-backed bridge

And the dance the bushes do

When there’s a truck

Around the corner.


You know

The house with all the cats

In the window


And all year round

You slow down to watch the sheep

And then their lambs

And then they’re sheep again.





Niamh Twomey is a young Irish writer and student of English and French in University College Cork.  After winning the Hotpress Write Here Write Now  competition in 2016, her work has been published in Hotpress Magazine, Quarryman, Flight Writing, and Quill & Parchment.

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Jenny Moroney



Boxed Dusk
A beginning of an evening was grasped by the room

whose sparse light seeped in from a solitary window.

Lain on the bed, a pencilled in person noted the square

of sunset with its pastel pinks, blues and greens

layered over a charcoal city skyline.


Moving their hand against the square

so the light was sieved through their skin like dust,

they noted how this beginning of an evening

could be anything from a painting to a life.




Jenny Moroney studied BA English Literature with Creative writing at UEA and now lives, works and writes in South London.

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Kenneth Pobo




Woodrow Wilson


For my ninth birthday

my grandparents gave me a book

of presidents which stopped at JFK.

I often leafed through it, skimming

the few paragraphs on each,

which never criticized–

they all had magic

it would seem.  But #28—


I taped a paper over his face.

He looked like he could dash out

of the binding and eat me alive.

Woodrow Wilson.  A stern-faced

Princeton prof.  I later learned

he worked to the point of strokes

to get countries to talk

instead of fight.  Yet ramped up

segregation, admiring

Birth of a Nation

for its Ku Klux crapping.


The book yellows in the basement

under cat litter and a few

cracked 45s.  Wilson, is that you

I hear wandering up the stairs?

In your tidy suit?  Your white sheet?



Kenneth Pobo had a book out from Circling Rivers in 2017 called Loplop in a Red City.  Forthcoming is a book of prose poems called The Antlantis Hit Parade.



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A.J. Huffman



What to Dream


a lost bone

two hawks

a drowning ferry


throwing shadows across a bedspread//

an empty forest

a burning match

a borrowed apocalypse//




A.J. Huffman has published thirteen full-length poetry collections, fourteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry chapbook through various small presses.  Her most recent releases, The Pyre On Which Tomorrow Burns (Scars Publications), Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink), A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press), and Familiar Illusions (Flutter Press) are now available from their respective publishers.  She is a five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2600 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.  She is the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.


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