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Present Passed Future

When I came up with this month’s prompt, I expected to hear about at least one spaceship. Sci-Fi may have gone out the window, but talent sure didn’t follow it. Instead of the future, contributors delved into the present (and the past) to paint a close-up portrait of a moment that was, and, through their poetry, still is.

Peace and Love Always,

Mayan Godmaire

Creative Writing Editor


A Magpie to a Flame

By Tina Barbusci

Contributor


The glass rests on the teetering table,

the rim smudged by the imprint of your lips.

The table sways, the kneeling unbearable,

listening to the gulp of yet another sip.


My tears refract against your beaming smile.

Salt seeps into the cracks, I’m tired I’m tired.

You shuck me with greed, completely beguiled.

With one final swoop, I dim, husk on a pyre.


The angel’s trumpets blare in the distance,

isn’t it beautiful? How fond you are of song.

Why, your voice is trembling, need assistance?

A dirge I am due, hurry now, don’t have long.


I smirk as you crash to my feet when I stand,

I saunter toward the glass, pitcher in hand.



The Moth

Beth Fecteau

Contributor


A flitting, white thing,

Brushes its wing-dust across my cheek

Only to take flight again

Who else could spot the faintest glowing

From half a mile away?

Could find such beauty in a dusty porch-light?

Every time it gets too close

Every time it burns itself on all its naïve attractions –

It leaves, searches once more

For another point of light




Dear Children

By Morgana Follman

Contributor


To children we say:

Be yourself

Be creative

Express your thoughts

Be one with nature


We encourage them to fly

Soar high up in the clouds, in the sky

Reach the stars and far beyond

But don’t forget to come back home


To children we give

All of our love

All of our pretence

Telling them stories of lands that never end

Sprinkling magic off our fingers into their hair

Combing and combing, so no dreams tear


Grow, we do, and the singing slowly halts

Metamorphosing into orders

Rules and rules shoved at you

Telling you what you can or cannot do

Creeping up to the vault

Of our shooting star wishes


They gave you a prescription of how to be

You took it and turned it into routine

They told you what was and wasn’t possible

And you believed it, you complied

The world showed you a rainbow then made you colour blind


Unwillingly, unknowingly, you’ve made yourself small

You’ve shut that child down, cut their wings

Now it knows only the fall


I, for one, was a fool

I listened to them all

Instead of my own heart of flowers

Therefore, I beg you!

Give hope to these young hearts of truth

But most importantly, learn to love the child in you


Falling Asleep

By Patrick Poulin

Contributor

Where’s up and where is down?

As I climb methodically up into the abyss

And fall, desperately clutching, into growth and peace


What life is linear?


I’m so tired of being asleep


My life and feelings fragmented by cracks of emptiness and black

Falling into a void to avoid the world I’m so afraid of


Falling, up and down

My tears rising and falling


Standing at the precipice of love and war

I ask myself, which one will I choose to fall into?

As my new life stretches out before me

And I clamour, so excited to indulge in it

Am I finally ready to free myself?

Am I finally ready to fall in?

Am I finally ready to be awake?


Untitled 8

Mayan Godmaire

Creative Writing Editor


Someone’s come knocking.

Is it Bluebeard back to take his wife?

From under your sheets?

Pull her closer.

Eyes close. Eye her.

Is she sleeping? Dreaming, away in wild warmth?

Hollow-reverb dog sound,

Sounds thrice.

One,

Two,

Am I dreaming? (knock)

Twoday the priests come from uptown dressed in rags and roses with pins in their hair.

(Something knocks hard on the door)

Who’s in there?

-- Everyone is home

On a round fertile earth,

So close to the body of a woman,

Close to birth,

Everyone is home.

Hi, mother.

Am I?

Sensual supple flesh against his flesh says yes.

She opens her basking eyes.

Does she look at him?

Her nipples are hard, goose-bumps on her skin.

She’s cold.

He holds her

& longs to taste partial rebirth.

Please.


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SINCE 1969