November Seventeenth

Macedonian Balcony by Terry Chipp

Domoren en dromers by Marcel Herms

DREAMS

In my omnipotence
I see the oceans
of Europa.
Life hurries on, abundant
under that icy crust.
In my dreams,
I know why they swim.
It is enough for me.

© Dai Fry 16th November 2020.

When skin was contraband

Music filled our days, replacing the soundlessness
of other people’s absence. Sometimes the doors leading
to a balcony would be half open and I’d peek a glimpse
of slick arms or thickening hands, calluses of elbow or knee,
the freedom of toes, curlicue of veins, a marbled thigh.
To see such familiar strangeness brought relief
like piano notes rising in a piazza on some sunny afternoon.
Unable to give up their attachment to derma, some wandered
to dangerous places, were shot down. Others closed their doors
to bar temptation as if temptation was pawing at glass,
looking in with pool-ish eyes. And of course there were those
that went mad with longing, meandered through streets
at night, yowling, leaped at glass windows and shattered.
In the morning, a man would pick up the pieces and weep.

-Anindita Sengupta

Deniers and Dreamers

Ignorance is a pathogen looking for a host.
Consuming fear, it’s circled the world twice
infecting those with pre-existing conditions
like bigotry and selfishness until whole
countries are aflame with a dangerous
pandemic of violence against the merciful
who wear masks to stop the spread.
Wash your hands of the deniers who cry
‘Hoax!’, who bully shop keepers and stand on
street corners screaming maskless about
their right to make us sick. Stay at home,
keep your distance, and if you must,
march beside the justicemakers who protect
Black Lives and those in White Coats who
dream of a cure.

– Gayle J. Greenlea

Nightmare

it’s not safe out there, the parents say, too high, the ironwork too open, the façade is crumbling. Don’t go out, they say to the twins, who peer with thin white faces out through the window that is never cleaned, across the street where the reproachful windows glitter, the ones that saw. Don’t go out, like your brother did, climbed the fancy ironwork and fell. Don’t go out, but they leave the window open, as if to tempt them, the little girls who are left, the ones they would have offered in his place
dreaming is drifting
on the dark waves
of sleep

-Jane Dougherty

In response to Terry Chipp’s Macedonian balcony:

After Gustave Caillebotte

Inside, men glide planes across
the parquet. Scrolled iron railing filters
light through glass. Shaved curls of wood
rise like swells on a sun-spattered sea.
Their shirtless torsos inclined at task
as if in a ballerina’s révérence,
men ask each other if it’s time
for the lunch and bottle of wine
that wait beside the wainscoted wall.
Soon the floor will be stripped clean.
It will be finished, balcony doors
left ajar for breath and drying varnish.

-Holly York 2020

.day 17.

:: limited spaces ::

what do we know of apartment
blocks with balconies
no where to play

sit quietly with the monkey
or whatever toy to sustain
and magnify

what do we know of merging paint
that frequents our mind
to describe

there was a gap in the railings where things fell through
we sat and watched it all

..sbm..

Macedonian balcony

Lip of a room, mouth
of habitation opening
to a sky without ornament,
he would appear there
careful not to lean
on the railing,
what opens also closes,
looking up from the street
she felt the weight
of his expectation
as if, without a word,
she would ascend
to his door and all
that lay beyond
draperies of word,
the small coffees
of his delight.

-Peach Delphine

Domoren

Fox in thicket
hawk in oak, rabbit
knows these and coyote
as well, the language
of habitation is larded
with easy meals, with thatch
of palmetto and mosquito net
we resist your domestication,
here in the smoke, salt wind
off the marsh, we exist
in the margin of what you have not
yet consumed, we are coyote
to your dog, standing on four legs
roaming by night, hand shy
moon singing in the pale light
under palm and pine.

-Peach Delphine

Macedonian Dreams

nudity bores
instead, redraw
not curves, nor flesh
instead, constraints:
temptation waits,
behind these gates

-Sarah Reeson

(Macedonian Balcony)

“Encounter of an Architectural Kind“

You caught my eye as I innocently walked the opposite side of the street. I’ll never know if your allure was deliberate. I suspect that it was. No need for your fancy details and smart trims; not unless you’d figured out my routine. Positioned yourself on the right side of the building. Aligned your railings in a way that made the most beautiful patterns of light and shadow on the road at the right time of day. Was the sun in on your scheme? It’s been some time but I haven’t yet remembered my original plan or where it’s location was to be. I suppose someone will take over all of my important affairs. With you is where I need to be.

(Demoren en Dromers)

“Scream Dream”

I don’t like what’s coming round the bend this time.
I want to turn back.
It’s proving difficult.

It was just around here somewhere…
(Motions to a blurry spot swiftly receding)
Where the colours were all bright and I walked hand in hand with my friends and family.

They’re all gone now like missing cells in a roll of film.
Evil greedy cutting room floor.
Give them back.

Don’t replace them with the monster under the bed.
Adamant my circumstances have to change?
Fine. If I can’t have a nice day (dream) I’ll tear myself up.

Send myself Flat Stanley style far away from wherever you are.
I’ll bounce from post to post if necessary.
Eventually I’ll find my way awake from the nightmare you

-Lydia Wist

Bios and Links

-Terry Chipp

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.

e-mail:  terry@terrychipp.co.uk

Facebook:  Terry Chipp Fine Art Painting

Instagram: @chippko.art

-Marcel Herms

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.

www.marcelherms.nl

www.uitgeverijpetrichor.nl

-Jane Dougherty

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/

-Peach Delphine

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

-Dai Fry

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:  

@thnargg

Web: http://seekingthedarklight.co.uk

-Susan Darlington

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    

-Holly York

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.

-Helen Allison

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.

-Lydia Wist

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.

Website links:

https://cargocollective.com/lydiawist

https://www.facebook.com/lydiawistcreative/

-Sarah Connor

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

-Liam Stainsby

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/

Twitter: stainsby_liam

Instagram: Michael The Poet

-Sarah Reeson

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.

Website: http://internetofwords.com

-Gaynor Kane

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 30^th November 2020.  Follow her on Twitter @gaynorkane or read more at www.gaynorkane.com.

Anindita Sengupta

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 

–River return us–

Naming is not possession of a moment
or moth wing brushing moonflower in darkness,
some are nocturnal, some only walk in twilight,
having gathered up tracks of possum, sifted
wind for coyote, singing is the power buried in pine
released by lighting.

There was a time, a conversation
of jalousies clacking open then shut,
when my mother’s words were little more
than a wish for a rope and a tree, the motion
of her hands working into knots,
rope coiling on tongue.

What went in one ear and out; herons, the other
of dancing in shallows, rivulets of small fish
dart here and there, pelicans observe all,
the low glide of wave top precision.

We dissolve in this landscape where it is only natural
to be queer and trans, to hold a mirror to the sun,
to sing for my tide against windblown sparks
of what arson has laid waste, see now
how moon raises a great blade against day.

Darkness burnishing waters, mirror of opacity,
my grandmother’s cast iron skillet liquefied,
a face of sinuous power flowing to the Gulf,
gators hauled out on sandbars,
sugar drifts of sand, oaks dip into the current,
moss feathers on a wind, there is no god
that has not marked us for extirpation.

Today’s flow is north, vast flowers of water
strolling past us, blooming over the flatwoods,
shimmering with cicada and grasshopper song,
rain fills the many mouths open in supplication.

Never not unbroken, wind whistling through
lattice of bone and sinew lashings,
a lantern blinking semaphore
to a horizon of cloud and sea, never
a reply, only shadows lengthening
beneath oak and magnolia.

Everything here is a mirror of a mirror
blackwater rising, flood plain
extends wrist to sternum, inundation
of spine, incremental lift, embrace of cypress,
of sky, place without winter where no sap descends
tree, root and soil in sleepless conversation.

–Naming is not ownership–

My mother will never
call me daughter, dead name
stitched to living flesh,
there never was a father,
just an accident report,
black and white photograph

Sky scoured cloudless
wind uncoils, loping across waves
with long strides of a bobcat
anxious for shade in the tangle
of fox vines dropped
from cabbage palms and oak

We share shadow
absence stalks our days,
as dry season shifts to wet
cumulus proofs over inland heat,
footprints, no longer visible, trail
away into scrub, sand and palmetto

Sea assembles waves
beyond arc of horizon,
Moon pulls tide
into the embrace of mangrove,
our feet sink into sand and shell,
small birds sort wrack line

This form is water made word
this form is flesh made wave,
ghost made smoke, a burning
banked up in ash, left for the morrow

-Peach Delphine (“River return us” first appeared in Dust “Poetry and Naming is not ownership” in Cypress Press)

Mirrored, In Transition

Who is she, that unknown lady,
whose face I rarely, barely glimpse,
ever from the corner of an eye.
That unknown lady skirts my vision,
never quite in focus, then fades from view,
she hides her face away, even from herself.
No one may see her, no one may know her,
she will allow no one close, no one near,
so catch glimpse of her face, ever concealed,
nor look in her eyes: dead, lifeless, barren.
Bereft of hope, devoid of joy. Shuttered.
Remaining in seclusion, reluctant to reveal
so much as the smallest portion of her face,
hiding herself away from everyone’s gaze.
Shutting herself out of sight, in her shame,
so no one is compelled to see her,
nor be afflicted by her presence.
Furtively flitting in silence, in solitude,
so as to avoid any gaze – even her own –
that unknown lady hides her face away.

Occasionally she sidles close,
that unknown lady with the unknown face,
to peer from the side of a mirror,
tentative, uneasy, hesitant. Reticent.
She will not meet my gaze, that unknown lady.
Does she want me to know she is there,
to remind me of her presence,
she has not departed, she will remain,
that unknown lady with the unknown face.
A face she keeps veiled, concealed, cloaked,
merely hinted at with a flick of hair,
a revealing twitch, all unconscious,
a bare glimpse at what lies beneath,
pale, shadowed, beneath her camouflage,
close-wrapped, tightly, as if in defense.
Does she want me to acknowledge her
when she will not acknowledge herSelf.
Yet by instinct I know that unknown lady,
whose face almost I recognise,
I know that unknown lady to be me.

-Luci Virgo

November Sixteenth

Devils in disguise by Marcel Herms

Katrina in the monastery by Terry Chipp

Katrina

Baptised in light,
dressed in white,
she is about to make her vows.
To forever be bound to prayers
until death ascends her
to her love above.

-Gaynor Kane

LITTLE DEVILS

Carry our devils
tandem them with love.
A double helix,
true life force.
On wars that rage,
we are the both sides
and as we sing
powerful anthems,
they are same song.
Deep runs duality.
Right and left,
victim and persecutor
all one.
the
Philosophy has
said and done.
We have cried
expressed pain.
Healed wounds
and let love
flow deep.
Until it is time
for sleep.
Within
all living things
is design.
Bound by chains
of love and hate.
After dreams
… all else is
but simple physics.

-© Dai Fry 15th November 2020.

Our Ladies of Assumption

People aren’t always who they say they are,
places aren’t always what they seem,
a smile does not always mean pleasure,
and sanctuary is not where we think to look.

Colour is not an indication of integrity,
and wealth means nothing more than privilege.
Sin is a figment of the imagination,
but misery is real, hunger hurts.

She sits in the cloistered quiet,
dressed in virginal white,
the collection box bursting with her offering.
In the street, children scratch for worms.

In the street, children scrabble, and
the painted prostitute dabs her eyes,
hands them her hard-won cash.

Small hands flutter in thanks like birds,
the world turns,
and the box, shaken,
rolls the same dice.

-Jane Dougherty

Katrina in the monastery

She sits, an L of light in the lower corner,
not quite confined by the frame. Her thoughts
reach toward the obscure doorway arch
and its floating shapes that configure themselves
like the ones we find behind
closed eyelids. A statue? A praying monk?
a parrot? another arch to deeper dark?
Hair like satin sunshine hides her face.
Her back and shoulders slightly hunch,
slim protection in the snowy gown.

-Holly York 2020

(Katrina In The Monastery)

“Enjoying Solitude”

Lack of stimulation provides

Time to gather thoughts

See things I hadn’t noticed before

I’ll be with you in a minute

(Devils In Disguise)

“Dances Between Dark and Light”

Gaudy beings because if not they’d fade away to nothing
As it happens they still fade, first leaving antagonising shadows on others –
They’re trying to stick around to anything that might have them
And initially that works
There’s great intrigue in pursuing what isn’t fully seen
When the whole truth is uncovered the devils have lost their power

-Lydia Wist

Rupert

The man behind the curtain wages spiritual war
pulling levers, casting spells. A succubus who visits
dreams of the powerful, pitches periapts and potions:
a heart, a brain, a pair of ruby slippers for safe
pandemic travel. Pick from his pocket of poisons.
This charlatan traffics in allegiance and betrayal,
switches sides for profit, a chameleon in a business
suit peddling sleazy paragraphs, anointing kings,
vaporizing heroes. Information is a puzzle worked
six ways; the picture never clear. Facts are malleable
in his hands, truth disguised as lies, lies curated
as truth. Disinformation to destabilize democracies,
raise despots and kings, mow them all under
as fodder for the masses to chew on. Confuse, evade,
repeat. Our glass house is a hall of mirrors swung
in all directions. No absolutes, no norms, no traditions
Nothing to cleave to in a storm. Roots extracted,
fake blood poured, lines drawn in shifting sand
Bandwidths blast bombastic stories, political fairytales
that self-destruct upon inspection, experts made
and broken in a single newscast. Anything goes.
Real no longer matters. Consume, regurgitate, repeat.
Brains on pulp fiction. The pretender smiles. We are
pushovers for truth-decay.

-Gayle J Greenlea

..day 16..

:: hiding ::

hiding could be the ultimate solution

some of us have adopted as per the guidelines

remember how you turned your back as a child
thought no one could see you
as you could not see them?

either that or go in disguise
a devil of an issue

..sbm..

Devils in the Monastery

I am tired
introversion, demands
multicoloured anarchy
middle-distanced portrait;
you lunatics, in line
staring at darkness

-Sarah Reeson

 

Bios and Links

-Terry Chipp

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.

e-mail:  terry@terrychipp.co.uk

Facebook:  Terry Chipp Fine Art Painting

Instagram: @chippko.art

-Marcel Herms

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.

www.marcelherms.nl

www.uitgeverijpetrichor.nl

-Jane Dougherty

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/

-Peach Delphine

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

-Dai Fry

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:  

@thnargg

Web: http://seekingthedarklight.co.uk

-Susan Darlington

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    

-Holly York

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.

-Helen Allison

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.

-Lydia Wist

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.

Website links:

https://cargocollective.com/lydiawist

https://www.facebook.com/lydiawistcreative/

-Sarah Connor

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

-Liam Stainsby

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/

Twitter: stainsby_liam

Instagram: Michael The Poet

-Sarah Reeson

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.

Website: http://internetofwords.com

-Gaynor Kane

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 30^th November 2020.  Follow her on Twitter @gaynorkane or read more at www.gaynorkane.com.

Anindita Sengupta

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