John Sweet – 2 poems

Poem

 

 

Walk into the room

looking for a way to leave

 

My history was never as

violent as yours, but it’s not

like I’m going to apologize

 

Christ isn’t a solution,

obviously, but

a riddle

 

look at it from every angle

 

Why would a man choose

to murder his own child?

 

How much sunlight can a

beautiful woman hold

in her cupped hands?

 

It’s not answers any of us

are after here, but praise.

 

🍃

 

The song of love

 

 

or something for all the murdered waitresses,

all the suicides and the missing ones,

all the kids they put up for adoption in the summer of ‘92

 

something for the streets that

end at graveyards

 

for the town that floods while we sleep and it’s

nice thinking I’ve escaped my past even

when the reality is always more complicated

 

it’s the last day of

whatever season my father died in

 

crows at the foot of every cross and

along the edges of the interstate and always the

shadows of collapsing barns

 

always blinding sunlight and the absence of heat

 

the names we forget and

the bodies we can’t seem to

 

the faces that are never happy to see us

 

voices that tell us to come in

but never anyone willing to offer us

something to stop the bleeding.

 

 

🍃

 

John sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living.  A believer in writing as catharsis.  An optimistic pessimist.  Opposed to all organized religion and political parties.  Avoids zealots and social media whenever possible.  His latest collections include APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press) and BASTARD FAITH (2017 Scars Publications).  All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.

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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.

 

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.