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,
Creative Writing Editor
A Magpie to a Flame
By Tina Barbusci
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.
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
By Morgana Follman
To children we say:
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
By Patrick Poulin
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?
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,
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.
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.
He holds her
& longs to taste partial rebirth.