High Moon by Terry Chipp
Der Verlosser by Marcel Herms
thru arable night,
a perennial winter’s tale.
Far as can, from edge,
they forage as families.
fields their furrows
Lepus europeaeus, feasting
foods of wintertide.
Their heavens shine
baleful orb light.
Frozen eight times under
silver black moon.
I wait patiently for
A dawn blooded
weak winter’s sun,
was still-born to
freeze in short day’s
clench cold grip.
I sat here as
a solitary watcher,
at journey’s end.
Dark the dawn of light.
In new sun hanging
ragged and forlorn,
the brown hare will rise
ghostly from her form
taking a two leg stand.
A rival may appear
or morning will bring
its own salvation for
her leverets in
their nest of fur.
© Dai Fry 13th November 2020.
If the flames rise high enough,
the oceans full of coral bones
and starved tatters of walrus skin
roll high enough,
tempests and hurricanes blow hard enough,
the piles of dead in quicklime pits
belch corruption strong enough,
will the inferno
tossed from our flailing arms
burn up the moon?
A field of paddy darkens, blisters
with rain. The blood and bone
of the world breathes in our ears.
The woman shines on, oblivious
to strands of hair across her face.
Tracks cut earth where wild grass
bends. Many have collapsed here
in obeisance. Aah, in Urdu, means
moan or sigh. The woman knows this
but does not reply. Her face ages.
The Savior arrives, wearing a jetpack.
Seeing so many to save, she starts
to feel blue-faced and daunted at the task:
all the lost must be accounted for
and raised, even this gnash-toothed sobber
who bathes her gown in toxic tears.
She hopes he won’t begin to gnaw
her ankles as his tiny hands flail
chords on their invisible squeezebox
and the crowd chants “Lock her up!”
-Holly York 2020
:: line drawing ::
watched it twice those days when we could travel
quiet slow and uneventful
it left lasting impressions
a simple drawing out
and sometimes late in the evening
think of it
leave the house
and return to the simple line drawing
High Moon Saviour
did you save me
from darkness, lit
by our belief
in landscapes, drawn
“Burning (Material) Evidence”
Sick burns, burnout, embarrassment
Break downs, burn downs and third degree burns
Papers, shredding and crackling confetti
Celebrations, bonfires and burning stars
Denial, dancing and flaming hearts
It is a relief as pain is removed,
Absorbed from its source –
Poison from a wound
Veins relax after tensing
An exorcism of sorts has begun
On the night before
It happened, Earth’s moon was
Strong and full and round
It pulled on tides, which pulled on sands –
Made ripples from broken down rocks and minerals –
I’d imagine these static waves as snakes standing by
On the night before It happened
Earth’s status remained unchanged
High over countryside less sway is seen but
Moon’s soft light touches everything
Makes shimmering soldiers of grassy fields
Protected by dense walls of trees, hedges, bracken
Landscapes wait, with or without incident, for
The changing of the guard – the return of Earth’s sun
If I were you, I would rethink
positioning myself as messiah.
Disciples expect too much from the gods
Glory and adulation are short-lived,
humans fickle, addiction mistaken
for love. Sacrifice is the price
of immortality; arrow through
the heart, a self-inflicted wound,
castration, immolation. Ask Krishna,
Attis, Quetzalcóatl, Tammuz — saviours
dethroned, cast into the Underworld
to atone for sin. If you are the chosen
surrogate to mediate mercy from
heaven, prepare to save Dreamers,
free children from cages, bake cakes
for gay weddings, pay reparations,
hand women control of their wombs
There is no half-way in Goloka,
Omeyocan, Valhalla, Nirvana. God
is a servant who masquerades in flesh
Persephone in the garden, Radhika
milking cows, Kuutar spinning silver
yarn from the moon. The day comes
soon when you must leave Olympus,
wrest requisite redemption from dark
angels below. This time bone spurs
won’t spare you. Reveal yourself.
Are you demigod or simulacrum?
– Gayle J. Greenlea
Caravans and Petrol Bombs
We lived there. I bellydanced
for the neighbour, his hands
in rubber gloves washing dishes.
Our bed went through
the rotting floor. In winter
we had to bring the gas bottle
in. We ate drunken chips
made in the deep fryer
at 2am and didn’t set
the place on fire. When
we moved it became
a poshpad for the pups.
I’d left Christmas toffee
in the wardrobe. Opened
the door and a nest full
of baby mice smaller
than pink marshmallows
jumped out into my face.
We locked the terrier in
the room to sort it out.
When it no longer served
any purpose we made
molotov cocktails in Dale Farm
milk bottles. Threw them
through the windows
and watched it burn.
A NEW DAY
They tiptoed through the city of sleepers,
the night air swallowing the catcalling
that had followed them all their lives,
the hands that had snaked from dark alleys
to slap and grab at their bare legs.
They tiptoed with lightness in their hearts.
Dreamed of striking a match, throwing it
over their shoulders and walking away
without looking back, the streets burning
and the sun rising over a new day.
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.
is the author of Walk Like Monsters (Paperwall, 2016) and City of Water (Sahitya Akademi, 2010). Her work has appeared in anthologies and journals such as Plume, 580 Split, One and Breakwater Review. She is Contributing Editor, Poetry, at Barren Magazine. She has received fellowships and awards from the Charles Wallace Trust India, the International Reporting Project, TFA India and Muse India. She currently lives in Los Angeles, California. Her website is http://aninditasengupta.com