After The Cold Moon by declan coles I return. Like a rebirth Fitting as the new year approaches: The bitter reigns of the Ever-rising...

The World's Loneliest Sheep by phoebe kalid - for fiona, who was stranded for two years on the shore of the moray firth in scotland....

XIII Requiem by susan zegarsky I can see how bright the fire was remember? and I can feel its heat we tucked in under blankets drinking...

Shark Heart by aoife-marie buckley It’s not even that I’ve thought about Them a lot It’s more that I’ve thought about How it felt to be...

Boyhood by paul o. jenkins Some late December afternoon, The dim, Cold and biting, Blankets the corner house. No birds are left to sing....

Remnants by sarah o'grady The day is released. City bridges murmurate with city suits swooping from Bank to the bridge, transpontine....

They Built a 'Boots' Upon Our Love by jacob ray-halliday I Google Maps takes you only so far. Church of St. Brigid. Tire scorched car...

In Among The Ruins, Love by denise o'hagan | after Cupid and Psyche, Ostia Antica, Rome I tread the wide slabbed stone street, lined with...

Sonnet 50: Umbria in Autumn by marc f. weigand | for linda kirby mewshaw and michael mewshaw Below the Umbrian hilltops, mugged by...

Vigil by naomi madlock A glut of hemlock-green, the river drags the last strands of daylight over the crest of a droning weir, describing...

Now It's Been Two Years by gareth writer-davies and the frost feathering the windows is outside which you always complained about the...

Basketball Days by eric colburn The bonk of ball on backboard brings me back to backyard basketball: the quirky bounce root-rippled...

Ten Days To My Father's Death by sarah das gupta The hospital told me again, they wanted to stop his food. I asked how long would it...

He Was Sick by jerrod laber His name was John, and for a long time that was all I knew. ...John. Uncle John. Like John of the Cross and...

Oisín in Tír na nÓg by kathryn boudouris i. What is creation in a place without time? Two moments balanced like stones in an arch, each...

Memory Tray by bernard pearson I have come to believe that it is the small pieces, beach combed from a life that can matter most. The...

Visiting Old Bends by angela arnold Every new-old stretch of road seems to settle particles: life stuff once uncannily suspended, me...

Hare & Hand by lois hambleton The standing grain my father called it, meaning what was left, of use. All grain is of the grass he always...

Not Knowing by fionn andrews that he had consumed his closing supper that his tenuous form would fatten no longer that his final forage...

The Atlantis Tapes by george sandifer-smith Ten years after – we were lions back then, in the scream of our parents’ sliding doors. The...