[Poetry] — Christopher Linforth

“Questions should be avoided/about the terms of the will/and whether cremation or internment/is the preferred state for his body./Unless, of course, he was into that.”

[Poetry] — William Snelling

“At breakfast, we heard the barely hoped-for words,/‘don’t bother going in, it might reach thirty…’/From then the day stretched out like low tide,/so low you thought you could stroll to France.”

[Poetry] — Oisín Breen

“So it is that we end here, instead,/In autumn, when youth relents,/In the face of lasting death,/And birthing begins”

[Poetry] — Eric Nicholson

“I’ve only inherited a few mementos:/a Brownie camera, poetry and an OS Map/which unfolds to cover my carpet/like a time-lapse film/of a bud bursting into leaf.”

[Fiction] Summers — Maria Schiza

“The summer had ebbed away into autumn and there were no warning signs, although if there were, I failed to see them, and the fact of it was what remained.”

[Poetry] — John Moessner

“Maybe clapping is the remnant of a desperate act/of early humans, drought-worn and itching/for a salve-a storm- inviting it by calling its name”

[Poetry] — Jorge López Llorente

“No, the new heat death from textbooks,/
rather than that intangible entropy,/
arrives – literal, not paradoxical;/
on trees, not paper; cold-blooded, not cold”

[Poetry] — Raymond Miller

“Discovered letters she once wrote/in that unsteady girlish hand;/unsheathe each from its envelope,/ignore the cracking of his throat/for he would not be thought unmanned.” 

[Poetry] — Michael Sutton

“Looking from the pavement into a star starved sky I slither./
The car which from distance seemed blanketed kitschly in leaves/
I soon see bashed with slate and bricks felled by night winds.”

[Poetry] — John Grey

“You could call this chemistry./
But I prefer geography,/rivers that flow together,/form this cozy delta.”