a park around 7. and sunset. early march. sun bouncing up from the grass at all angles and this soft falling hill like a candleflame light and a saucer of warm liquid wax.
some dogs playing chasing. some people sitting out. my god – there are times in the world you'd be generous to offer a share of. and everyone's generous, passing out bottles of beer out of shopping bags, handfuls of loose cigarettes. ten-year-olds bike riding, teenagers kissing,
a woman, some distance off reading and smoking a joint. and that's spring air too, and the smell of it wafting occasionally
over: like cracked open greenhouses, crowding with mushrooms on wood. wet scents and plants mulching. composts and burning hot weather.
About the Author
D.S. Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and by another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent." His poetry has received eleven nominations for Best of the Net and seven for the Pushcart Prize, and has been released in three collections; "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016), "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)
I have my share Of troubles. Like we all do. But tonight, darling, I remember you. It was the way You wrinkled your nose When I asked you to dance There beside that Loud-flowing river On that beautiful early-autumn day. We were children, but I think I loved you. “Dance?” you said. And the river carried our laughter away.
About the Author
David Romanda’s work has appeared in places such as Gargoyle Magazine, The Louisville Review, The Main Street Rag, PANK, and Puerto del Sol. His books are “the broken bird feeder” (Trouble Department) and “Why Does She Always Talk About Her Husband?” (Blue Cedar Press). Romanda lives in Kawasaki City, Japan.
I’ll tell my stories. My life stories. My rememberings, meanderings never written down, but taken in for telling. Waiting now to be put outside again. I’ll tell my stories. I’ll put the inside out. See if I can find my lost past self and hold it still for a snap shot to be taken. But my dream stories, were never outside. They’re the secret ones. Unrevealed staying inside.
Maybe later I’ll tell my dream stories, let you into them, put them in the mix. Let you get lost in there, as I did. And then all of you will see all of me, maybe. Later, there’ll only be my stories. I’ll be part of your stories then. Or will I be lost, still lost. Lost in them.
About the Author
Lynn White lives in North Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/