coffee is almost too
hot for my tongue the
blue of the cup too
invasive but nice I tuck
my feet under while
arching one instep
your rocking chair
rocks and rocks
Isabel de Andreis grew up in the US and Germany, and went to university in the UK. She is currently writing her first poetry pamphlet.
We come back each week
strangers to ourselves
going round in circles
of what if, if only –
taking turns to cry
white tissues the flags
of surrender, of solidarity.
Someone to do nothing with, that’s what I miss.
I say something new happening
is worse: the return
of the rose, flourishing careers
assiduous love prepared the ground for
that letting yourself one spring morning
into the house you cannot share.
Jeff Skinner, longlisted in this year’s Briefly Write Poetry Prize, has been published in a number of journals with poems to come in the Fenland Poetry Journal and Poetry Salzburg in 2022. Third in the 2021 Poetry Space competition, he has also been published in several competition anthologies.
Plum tree
cut to the quick
swarming with termites
I regret
complaining about
sticky sidewalks
Alisa Golden writes and makes art in a one-square-mile, California city. She is editor of Star 82 Review, author of Making Handmade Books, and her stories and poems have been published in Blink-Ink, Nanoism, and Litro, among others. www.neverbook.com
“When we let that luckiness in” (Naomi Shihab Nye)
A brief allusion in a novel
Sends me off to seek a poet
While a bookshop’s Facebook page
Sends me out after another
Of similar ethnicity and heritage:
Serendipity falling
Like sudden drops of rain
Out of an open sky.
I join the pitted dots in the dust.
Carl Farrell compulsively writes short poems and occasionally short fiction. He likes to read widely in several languages, but is increasingly drawn to the lyrical and life-affirming, albeit with elements of grit. He grew up in Nottingham, where he now lives, but spent most of his twenties in Greece.
A view to die for from any of our last resorts: whether
remote island or sapphire lagoon, the outlook is
unremittingly the same. We’re frighteningly easy
to travel to, our portfolio global. Another branch
opens daily. Most guests are driven here. Many fly.
All animals welcome. We apologise for the poor air
conditioning. We guarantee a good sleep. Beware
of a sudden proliferation in insects – rest assured
we are committed to total elimination. Everything
in the Ice Breaker Tavern is on the rocks, 24/7.
We don’t do a Happy Hour. Think Hotel California:
check out any time you like but you can never leave.
Daily wake-up calls are free. Sunset at the infinity
pool is unforgettable. Every room always has flowers.
“I’m calling my forthcoming book of eco poems We Saw It All Happen because I’m staggered at how the world can let catastrophe unfold in plain sight. I fret at the edges, cutting out meat and unnecessary travel but I like to think, as a writer, that I have a more important role to play. Auden’s famous (mis)quote that poetry makes nothing happen perhaps needs to be counterbalanced with a lesser-known quote from the master:
But once in a while the odd thing happens,
(Once In A While The Odd Thing Happens)
Once in a while the dream comes true,
And the whole pattern of life is altered,
Once in a while the moon turns blue.
And that’s precisely why I write.”
Julian Bishop is a former television journalist who’s had a lifelong interest in ecology and worked for a time as Environment Reporter for BBC Wales. A former runner-up in the Ginkgo Prize for Eco Poetry, he’s also been shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize and was longlisted in this year’s National Poetry Competition. He is one of four poets featured in a 2020 pamphlet called Poems For The Planet.
Issue
Trees in danger of extinction
Problem
Nose swaps don’t seem to work
Counter measure
Huge field of facemasks planted
Doubt
Will they mature on time?
Status
Open
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s the planet fighting back, trying to get rid of the current top of the food chain. How to help this greediest of species make themselves extinct? Future aquatic archaeologists may wonder about those two legged creatures who once lived above the water surface. In ancient times, when land covered the seas…”
Angela van Son lives in Utrecht, the Netherlands. She writes poems and very short stories about the strangeness of being human. She likes to put a twist on things, whether it’s dark, humorous, philosophic or playful. As a coach she helps people change their life stories by making things happen.
Saddened raver, Venus Knott, on a swaying street,
crawed up from her rotten gut Jägerbombs and Jäger neat.
Whereas V. Knott used to nav on a tanker bridge
fragile brashy coasts that slid iffy ice-shapes from their fridge,
then sailed by in hotter climes Mauna Loa staff
grieving over CO2 zooming up the graph
due to deepest empires having coal and oil to burn
as folk with bare a whiff of it suffered out of turn
while at crapshoot, Exxon, lax,
sank a chilly flute with Goldman Sachs,
she first sobered, then rebelled––
glued her ass to glass to show-up Shell.
“Ezra Pound said Literature is news that stays news, but sadly the last line of Venus Knott is already out-of-date. After the shocking timidity of COP26, we are going to have to think far deeper and tougher about how we must come together and act. Fossil fuel majors throughout the world will ultimately have to be taken into public ownership and control, in effect nationalised without compensation, in order to save civilisation from runaway climate chaos. Just as Rosa Luxemburg said a century ago when the world was riven by murderous imperialism, the choice we face is socialism or barbarism.”
John Aberdein is a former scallop diver, sea kayak coach and Arvon tutor who lives in Hoy, Orkney, and has a couple of novels to his name.
never have I thought a fish could dance so well in the desert. time hands everyone a blindfold, and we swear that nothing shines brighter than the void. in my country, time is as random as a black shoelace. the perfect knot today, the tangled confusion tomorrow. sometimes, my feet fly high, and other times they lead to defeat. yet, never have I heard that a fish could drink up the ocean. my blindfold suits the volume of my tresses and never have I seen better, I swear to you. my heart beats for the silky thrill of time’s laughing voice but it only revels in my coquetry and mocks me all the same. in my country, they always discuss the fainthearted. in my dreams, I dance with those faint of body and soul, the toddling but ancient spirits who hear every feeling and feel every word. but never have I dreamed a dream as foul as mine. you just know that one day, a fish out of water would live just fine. my country crosses swords with me for a gift as flawless as time and my country crosses swords with time for a soul as flawed as mine. what should I do with the idea that when we count time in seconds, we start with number one? when they write the story of my undoing, they will say it started today.
“From rising sea levels to ozone layer depletion, the danger of rapid climate change grows stronger than ever before. It is no longer enough to seek comfort in convenient unawareness. From day to day operations to government bills, we as humans can and should come together to mitigate climate change. Because, it’s coming for all of us. And when it comes, no precaution or solution will count.”
Fadilah Ali is from Edo State, Nigeria. She’s currently studying for her MSc in food microbiology. She’s an editor at The Muslim Women Times. When she’s not researching for her thesis, she’s either reading a John Green book or singing the praises of Garamond. Find her on twitter at (@partyjollofism).
They gather with laughter, as birds
in bright plumage: t-shirts, flip-flops,
denim shorts, one girl in a pink
bikini top, the boys loud, brash,
lighting portable barbeques.
And after, the land is stippled
with cans of shining sharp metal,
incongruous in swaying grass,
and a scatter of food, plastic,
a broken chair, sprouts from brown earth:
detritus of the delusion
that some attendant, some assumed,
unseen spirit of the loch will,
in discrete customer service,
reinstate the wild.
“This poem was inspired by news reports of people wild camping and lighting barbeques in the countryside and leaving litter and destruction in their wake. I wondered if such people were so detached from the natural world that they viewed it as a kind of human society service, where someone would be along shortly to clean up after them. Whilst the amenity value of nature is enjoyed and appreciated by many, we also have a responsibility to leave an area as we find it and make minimal impact on the environment.”
Creana Bosac hails from the UK, where she has worked as an Open University Associate Lecturer and now edits and writes creative writing critiques. Since joining a writing group last year, she has had a number of pieces published and has authored a guide to giving and receiving feedback.
You don’t count on ever
having to explain to your
10-year-old that you can see
her depression peeking through
the curtains,
that you recognize
its face because it’s the spitting
image of your own
unwelcome companion.
Jason W. McGlone‘s work has appeared in Potluck Magazine, The Metaworker, Sledgehammer Lit, Imperial Death Cult, and is forthcoming in The Orchards Poetry Journal. He makes music under the name Mourning Oars, holds an MFA from Queens University of Charlotte, and lives in Cincinnati with his family.
Briefly Write 