CURRENT ISSUE - 1.3
PAST ISSUES
GENRE
ABOUT US
WRITE THE WORLD WEBSITE
More
i have come back
to the village i swore i would never see again.
the first missile tears through the skin;
skinning the embers of
a quenched country
I look at you for decades and your words
melt in this subtropical heat.
Air sticks to my skin,
like honey. mosquitos circle my ankles and wrists
Sweet Erin you lay far from me,
In soils toiled by blight and blood.
Your deplorable, horrible, despicable, ignorable.
You reiterate, evaluate, desiccate, and exacerbate.
Can’t you accept the way you look?
Late afternoon.
I never knew a whisper, soft and sweet, could sing
In tranquil lapse.
A poem is when a scattering of swallows suddenly form a perfect v.
A poem is the angle which makes dew on a rose petal look like diamonds.
I believe in
People Places,
A Place for every Person to
On a frosty October morning, I walk to a field
And lie flat on my back in the dewy grass.
The silence can be eerie
Dark, damp and cold
.png)