Counting the days by Marcel Herms
Elfin by Terry Chipp
BOW MY HEAD
I bow my head as
words pour down
from your heavens.
Like stormed crows,
torrential and overwhelming.
My mind, soaking
short circuit wet.
is a tight
rubber swimming cap.
I cannot think
you squall and rage.
I can hear nothing
through this tempest.
around my head
like arrow tips
or angry bees
We’ve both forgotten
why I’m here.
© Dai Fry 9th November 2020.
COUNTING THE DAYS
I count the days
until I lose you.
It makes this kiss
taste all the sweeter
knowing the betrayal
our love is founded on
will subtract the pain.
There is child count-down waiting,
Friday afternoon at school,
party, balloons, friends waiting;
there is parent waiting for birth pangs,
the rush of the new on the horizon,
party, balloons, friends waiting;
there is the solitary anguish of hospital waiting,
news, waiting for the worst,
the phone that doesn’t ring waiting,
waiting in the rain till dark;
but the measure is finite,
the piece of string has a beginning and an end,
the longing will fade,
the pain and grief pass on slow wings,
it is the waiting for nothing, the counting
of minutes until the next hour of nothing begins,
the next day, week, year of the same
screaming nothingness but black bitter bile,
the waiting without end,
that is the death of the soul.
High Fives All Around
Doodles on the blank page of time,
we can only scratch the surface grime
with too few fingers for the count.
So we’ll trace hash marks to the end
of days. What is the number of fives
it will take to tally up our lives?
-Holly York 2020
For time –
adverse; in some profound sense of obligation.
Where we are expected to know well enough of
of peace –
and of certainty
and to be happy, in resign, for what is familiar –
with these belated notions of idealism.
Instead I find amnesty in the uncertainty
of the new.
Profundity in conflict.
The path ahead is foreign and my feet – unsettled
under the pull of the freshly unearthed soil
with our one and only certainty –
that all things are fated to return there –
Stars to flesh, flesh to dust,
earth to make the trees stand up
and leaves, love’s greening: Hope returned.
Then bending, turning, flaring, burning, flickering
falling flames. A hush of leaves, a flash of awe,
anxious winter’s silent pause: endings, muted
death of love. Remains of seasons in our hands
casting ashes to the wind in coffee spoons
to rain, to rain.
– Gayle J Greenlea
Counting the days
She counted the days of lockdown, drawing gates on the wall, it seemed appropriate since she didn’t get further than her gate. She used the big black crayon from the grandkids toybox and covered the Laura Ashley wallpaper – what did it matter, the world was going to hell in a handcart anyway. She named the garden birds – willy the wagtail, dick the robin, Roy the pigeon. On day ninety-three, eighteen and half gates later, the crayon snapped and so did she.
Night bird flowering
in my mouth, marking every day
empty, stars press against eye,
pain of all this enduring,
we are the blood of thicket
leaf and bole, born to palmetto
and oak, feel the shade
of our palms, see how darkness
is where moonflower blooms
watch as stars populate
absence of day, vermillion
settles into sea, come
as we abandon the lights
of habitation, roofs not living,
doors without leaves.
Embraces the outdoors
Chooses nature exclusively
Takes shelter under shifting canopies
Sleeps with the earth and is not afraid of it
Runs it’s races with giddy streams
Holds civil council with each other and other beings
What you’ve heard about them: likely not true
Strongest people you’ve (n)ever met
Extended their lives by years
True custodians of this planet
(Counting down the days)
“Are You Fazed?“
Country by country making an effort
Act by act guiding the off-course
Cell by cell phasing out prisons
Colloquial English: “fazed”=bothered
Or not bothered about something that’s yours,
Or not yours; someone that’s you, and not you
The goal of judicial systems is changing
We’re counting down the days to
Effective solutions and preventive measures
. day 10 .
:: numbers ::
did you see the fairy folk fluttering
moth mouths and mismatch
the day came clear with numbers
did you know that or did you google to find out
touch lightly in case wings
disintegrate to dust
tread lightly my dears
Counting the Elfin
how long before
return to the West
mists shroud thought
future; again, as one
Bios and Links
grew up in Thurnscoe and ia now living in Doncaster via Wath Grammar school, Doncaster Art College, Bede College in Durham and 30 years teaching.
He sold his first painting at the Goldthorpe Welfare Hall annual exhibition at the age of 17 and he haven’t stopped painting since.
He escaped the classroom 20 years ago to devote more time to his artwork. Since then he has set up his own studio in Doncaster, exhibited across the north of England as a member of the Leeds Fine Artists group and had his painting demonstrations featured on the SAA’s Painting and drawing TV channel. Further afield he has accepted invitations to work with international artists’ groups in Spain, Macedonia, Montenegro and USA where his paintings are held in public and private collections. In 2018 he had a solo exhibition in Warsaw, Poland and a joint exhibition in Germany.
His pictures cover a wide range of styles and subjects from abstract to photo-realism though he frequently returns to his main loves of landscape and people.
Visitors are welcome at his studio in the old Art College on Church View, Doncaster.
Facebook: Terry Chipp Fine Art Painting
is a Dutch visual artist. He is also one of the two men behind the publishing house Petrichor. Freedom is very important in the visual work of Marcel Herms. In his paintings he can express who he really is in complete freedom. Without the social barriers of everyday life.
There is a strong relationship with music. Like music, Herms’ art is about autonomy, freedom, passion, color and rhythm. You can hear the rhythm of the colors, the rhythm of the brushstrokes, the raging cry of the pencil, the subtle melody of a collage. The figures in his paintings rotate around you in shock, they are heavily abstracted, making it unclear what they are doing. Sometimes they look like people, monsters, children or animals, or something in between. Sometimes they disappear to be replaced immediately or to take on a different guise. The paintings invite the viewer to join this journey. Free-spirited.
He collaborates with many different authors, poets, visual artists and audio artists from around the world and his work is published by many different publishers.
writes novels, short stories and lots of poems. Among her publications is her first chapbook of poetry, thicker than water. She is also a regular contributor to Visual Verse and the Ekphrastic Review. You can find her on twitter @MJDougherty33 and on her blog https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/
is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast. Former cook. Has had poems in Cypress Press, Feral Poetry, IceFloe Press, Petrichor. Can be found on Twitter@Peach Delphine
is a poet living on the south coast of England. Originally from Swansea. Wales was and still is a huge influence on everything. My pen is my brush. Twitter:
Susan Darlington’s poetry regularly explores the female experience through nature-based symbolism and stories of transformation. It has been published in Fragmented Voices, Algebra Of Owls, Dreams Walking, and Anti-Heroin Chic among others. Her debut collection, ‘Under The Devil’s Moon’, was published by Penniless Press Publications (2015). Follow her @S_sanDarlington
lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her two large, frightening lapdogs. A PhD in French language and literature, she has retired from teaching French to university students, as well as from fierce competition in martial arts and distance running. She has produced the chapbooks Backwards Through the Rekroy Wen, Scapes, and Postcard Poetry 2020. When she isn’t hard at work writing poems in English, she might be found reading them in French to her long-suffering grandchildren, who don’t yet speak French.
-Gayle J. Greenlea
is an award-winning poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, “Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel Zero Gravity at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Astronomy Magazine, Headline Poetry and Press and The Australian Health Review.
lives in the North East of Scotland. Her first poetry collection ‘ Tree standing small’ was published in 2018 with Clochoderick Press. Her work has appeared in journals and magazines in print and online and she is working towards a second collection.
Like someone who tries out hats or other samples before making a final decision, experimenting with different ideas and techniques is how Lydia spends some of her time. This allows for other portions of time to speak through the lens of fiction, creative nonfiction and art. You can find her work at Cargo Collective , Lydia Wist Creative and on Twitter @Lydiawist.
lives in the wild, wet, south-west of England, surrounded by mud and apple trees. She writes poems to make sense of the world, and would rather weed than wash up.
-sonja benskin mesher
holds a bachelor in English Literature and Creative Writing and is a secondary school teacher of English and Creative Writing. Liam is currently writing his first, professional collection of poetry entitled Borders that explores poetry from all around the world. Liam also Co-Hosts a movie discussion podcast entitled: The Pick and Mix Podcast. Liam writes under the pseudonym ‘Michael The Poet’
Links: WordPress: https://michael-the-poet.com/
Instagram: Michael The Poet
is 54, married and a mother of two, who has been writing and telling stories since childhood. Over the last decade she has utilised writing not just as entertainment, but as a means to improve personal communication skills. That process unexpectedly uncovered increasingly difficult and unpleasant feelings, many forgotten for decades. Diagnosed as a historic trauma survivor in May 2019, Mental health issues had previously hindered the entirety of her adult life: the shift into writing as expression and part of a larger journey into self-awareness began to slowly unwind for her from the past, providing inspiration and focus for a late career change as a multidisciplined artist.
is a Northern Irish poet from Belfast. She has two poetry pamphlets, and a full collection, from Hedgehog Poetry Press, they are Circling the Sun, Memory Forest and Venus in pink marble (2018, 2019 and Summer 2020 respectively). She is co-author, along with Karen Mooney, of Penned In a poetry pamphlet written in response to the pandemic and due for release 30th November 2020. Follow her on Twitter @gaynorkane or read more at www.gaynorkane.com.