Adelaide S. More – 2 poems

Resignations of my location

 

Aitu circles my apartment

in the form of a pelagi‘s father

walking, smoking at the edge of jungle.

 

Dark rain pops

as drops find shallow puddles

in pocked earth around my roof.

 

Waiting.

Feigning sleep.

The cigarette smoke hangs just on the other side of my curtains.

A phantom of it slinks in, saturating the room.

I resign myself to breathe.

 

A snap, and a banana leaf, crashes onto the roof.

I resign myself to breathe.

 

🍃

 

Rhetorical questions

 

What is it to sit with the tide?

The surf is not—is never a murmur.

It is a solid, constant statement, repeated and varied.

 

Perhaps sitting with the tide is a chance to know myself?

To understand fear—the wisdom in it.

To gain perspective. Realize my potential for change.

 

maybe it’s just escape

 

Why do I squirm inside, walking the rocks?

Is it the memory of the dog pack nearly setting on me last weekend?

Is it the spider-like quality of the crabs scuttling into cracks?

Is it the slimy shine of the things that cling to moist rocks with front legs, then flip and snake into the brine of tidal pools with their sleek hind tails?

Or is it only the fear of the surf?

The reality of the tide’s power?

The unforgiving consequences of a rocky shore?

 

🍃

Adelaide lives in the Midwest with a golden lab named Sam and spends time teaching English as a Second Language to more recent arrivers at an adult learning center.

Adelaide’s poetry and fiction have appeared in electronic publications including New MysticsThe Enchanting VersesTruck, and Westview Journal.

Sometimes Sam does consider getting on a plane.

You can reach A.S. More at adelaide.s.more@gmail.com.

 

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Byron Beynon – 1 poem

KIDWELLY AND GOWER

 

 

He continues westwards,
a few miles at a time,
where roots recognise
the flavour of the rain.
Place of Gwenllian’s nemesis,
as a community settles
with castle, spire,
and that sense of accent.
On the horizon
the Gower emerges
from pre-history,
a panorama of atmosphere
as salty flats
wait for the future to arrive.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Byron Beynon lives in Wales. His work has appeared in several publications including London Magazine, Cyphers, Crannog, Poetry Wales and The Yellow Nib. Collections include Cuffs (Rack Press) and The Echoing Coastline (Agenda Editions).

Welcome to Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts

What a busy month it has been! Bindweed Magazine celebrated its second birthday at the beginning of April, and Issue 8 finished its last publication at the end of April.

To celebrate these milestones, Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts is launched. What does this mean for the publication schedule? From May until November 2018, poetry and fiction will be published on the Bindweed homepage and in December, a print anthology of all work appearing online will be published.

What’s in the future for Bindweed? 

Here at Bindweed, we feel that 8 issues has been a great accomplishment, especially for a labour-of-love endeavour that has kept going despite the editors (Leilanie Stewart and Joseph Robert) having moved from London, England to Belfast, Northern Ireland, had a change of day jobs, contended with a broken bone, had a baby and moved house – twice! We ran our magazine with no Arts Council funding, or any other financial support at all. It’s all, purely, for the love of literature. We’re proudly independent and have no need for any government money – now, or ever!

The 2018 anthology will offer the same platform to writers and same format for readers, but on a yearly rather than quarterly schedule. We hope that you enjoy reading it as much as we have enjoyed publishing it.

Leilanie and Joseph

Richard Livermore – 2 poems

OUTLIER

 

A handful of eyes
thrown up in the air

 

will see what they see
from multiple angles

 

much like the two
Picasso possesses

 

in defiance of those
who believe he is

 

dead and want him
back in the grave.

 

 

🍃

 

 

RUMBLING EQUATIONS

 

Nothing’s what
it would seem
it would seem
since everything needs
a qualification
to go to the very
top of the class

 

and have it out
with the teacher
of maths that Pi
turns all equations
to jokes
– at least until
infinity croaks.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Richard Livermore (1944, United Kingdom) has been published in numerous paper and online magazines over the years, in the UK, USA, Spain, Italy and, more recently, Romania. These include 14, AMF Logos, Asses Of Parnassus, Barcelona, Black Mountain Review (Northern Ireland), The Black Rose, Chanticleer Magazine, Chapman, Counterpoint, Decanto, Dream-Catcher, Envoi, Fat Damsel, First Time, Folio, Furry Fables, Global Tapestry, Haiku Scotland, In Between Hangovers, Inclement, Iota, Keep Poetry Alive, Never Bury Poetry, New Hope International Review, New Scottish Epoch, Northern Light, Ol’ Chanty, Orbis, The Old Police Station, The Other Merry-Go-Round, Poetic License, Poetry Scotland, Purple Patch, Quantum Leap,  Reach, The Reader, Rizoma, Scotia Review, The Scotsman, Seventh Quarry, Sol, Staple, Weighbauk, Wildflower and Your One Phone Call. His work has also been broadcast by the BBC. and has appeared on the Corbenic Poetry Path in Perthshire. Three of his poems have been translated into Romanian by Monika Manolachi and included in The Anthology Of Scottish Poets published by Bibliotheca Universalis. His work as also been published in book-form by Lothlorien, Diehard, Chanticleer Press, Elefantasia Press and Biblioteheca Universalis. For the past 15 years, he has also published and edited his own magazine called Chanticleer Magazine and its on-line offshoot, Ol’ Chanty, to which he has contributed many essays and blogs about poetry, philosophy, film, etcetara. Th Rest Is Silence is his third book by Bibliotheca Universalis.

John Dorrah – 1 poem

Snippet

 

 

I lay in a dried out cornfield with my legs up

into the sky, a wishbone, yes, a chicken-shit

 

wishbone. A big green and yellow John Deere

began singing a lullaby, moving toward my

 

mouth, my heart, all of me and I let it chew

me up, remembering mama saying chew

 

chew, chew on this fish. It may have bones.

Damn straight. What fish doesn’t? Don’t talk

 

to your mama like that. Just sayin… Anyway

I heard the crunch but never felt pain until

 

she tossed me into the deepest part of the

river where the triplets died last September.

 

There.

 

 

🍃

 

The verdict is still out whether John Dorroh taught any high school science; however, he showed up every morning at 6:45 for a few decades with at least two lesson plans in his briefcase. His poems and short fiction have appeared in Dime Show Review, Sic Lit, Poetry Breakfast, Suisun Valley Review, 99 Words, and others. He travels, bikes and hikes, and plays in the dirt when the weather allows.