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Road Closed by Carolyn Thomas
When you came home from school at dinnertimealready they’d prepared him:washed the mud from face and hands,stripped off his sodden clothes, his jacketdraped in dark waterweed, usurpingdandelion, cornflower, dog rosehe’d pick, push into buttonholeto amuse her.On bare polished table, tidied, washeddid he look smaller? Did you noticeflecks of grey in his red moustache?could you eat…
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Three Poems by Olga Stehlíková
I’d feel my heart pressing against yours without the latticework of bonecages
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The Art of Translation: Olga Stehlíková’s Poetry
‘In my practise, I stick to the literal sense in the sense that I remain as faithful as possible to, let’s say, the “first level” that forms the core of the information.’
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Elegy for Pete by Phil Powrie
our friend Pete recorded bird songs, slowed them downon his reel to reels. chirrups & trills morphed into freaky atonal arias, slow, stretched thin.our friend Pete showed us no two bird’s songs were the same. we asked him how they talked to each other.he bark-laughed, said, they don’t, they sing.our friend Pete wore a dandy’s…
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The Gardener by Joolz Sparkes
You could go out to the yew have a good moan, vent your disappointment at yet another year without a pay rise; you could skip over to her excitedly tell her how your granddaughter had passed her degree with honours;
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Patagotitan and Me by Marcelo Medone
The girl stepped forward and stood beside me. Her eyes widened as did her smile. She extended her chubby little arms upward and outward, as if to embrace the enormity of the specimen on display.
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A Gift of Anthracite by Ben Bruges
the echo of the controlled explosion and cut of diamond-tipped band saw the ride away on the travelator
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chocolat by Frances Mulholland
The hot chocolate comes and Libby is momentarily taken aback by its tar-like consistency.
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Conversion by Ernest Williamson III
bright chariots carrying unscripted scripture deriding thunder in clap of hand
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Among Others, Unnoticed by Mike Fox
I wished I could unremember the newspapers. They all said the same thing.
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On Paper by Nida Sajid
Once she finished the sutures, she applied a thin coat of white glue with soft brushstrokes, her wrist rippling across the freshly stitched wound.
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An Empty House by Tom Kelly
He talks of death in a few poems and is accompanied by a photo (presumably of his parents). He opens by talking of death in the broadest sense until the final verse.
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A Long Journey into Mourning by Daniel Schulz
Softly tipping the shoulder of his neighbor, he asked her to let him out.
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Your Plum Tree no Longer Stands by Emma Lee
But the neighbour’s plum dropped a fruit that decomposed its seed, that got buried in soil removed
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Inter Arma Silent Musae
I see it as a form of collective therapy. Who else can speak the truth about human existence?
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Germany 1946 by Giles Goodland
The soil vomits out of the European theatre daffodils and bones.
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Missed Connection by Roy Duffield
And that night they met again at the bar. A Sunday, because they were alone among the hallowed pews.
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Acrostic of an Insomniac by Beth Rees
Amazing how slowly time snails when you’ve exhausted all video options. I yawn so wide my jaw hurts, eyes watering tears of frustration.
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The Chest Freezer by Thea Smiley
And the smooth white lid creaks and tilts, and the freezer is an iceberg floating
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Coping with Uncertainty: Writers and the Times by Natalie Nera
We, humans, have always been like this – reckless and unteachable. This makes it all the more important to ensure that people’s voices are heard. Silence is the worst kind of offence.
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Immanence by Hannah Linden
I listen to scientists try to explain why black holes are more common than they had anticipated. Imminence
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Snake Eyes by Andrés Murillo
I turned to look at Geronimo, his body immovable as he was beginning to digest his late night snack.
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What is Freedom? by Tereza Štrumfová
We, those privileged to live in democratic countries, may soon – as in many cases in history – give up our freedom for the promise of safety and security.
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Chapels of Light by Mike Fox
Carried by cart, apparently delirious, to a nearby farmstead, he is treated with kindness. As consciousness returns, he discovers that he has whispered about clusters of silver buildings, dwarfing St Pauls, their peaks tickling the clouds.
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Jack O’ Lantern by Frances Mulholland
Grinning crookedly, the hollow head casts flickering shadows around the room. Step-Dad left it too late for a pumpkin like all the other kids. The turnip grimaces at Libby from the centre of the table while the cheap bunting flutters overhead. Stepsister’s friends have devoured the Limited Edition Mini Rolls and pigs in blankets. Libby…
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A Story Time by Natalie Nera
Wherever you are, and whatever belief or religion you follow, hold hands with your nearest and dearest and share stories.
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After the Birth by Emma Lara Jones
my head kept bobbing up but they held me down to make me good and soft.
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Club B by Daniel Schulz
I. There, obviously, is something wrong with him. It‘s not quite clear what. Obviously there is something wrong with him, yes, but what is not quite transparent. As if his behavior was a silhouette of something else. Something that, like a liquid reflection in water, shows a clear outline but remains blurred within the consciousness…
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Whale-fall by Finola Scott
She’ll unlace convention’s whalebones, seek the succour of solitude, breathe perfumed shores.
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A Rendezvous with Art by Shahreen Khan Taan
It all seemed so unreal. Never before did she ever feel so fortunate to be alive.
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Market Find by Sue Wallace-Shaddad
I run my fingers over the patina, smoothed by one man’s craft.
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Jenna by William Falo
William Falo is a color pencil artist who also writes fiction. He lives with his family which includes a papillon named Dax. He can be found on Instagram @william.falo_art and X william Falo_art
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Editorial
Dear readers, writers and supporters, The summer was too short and too hot. In fact, it is still very hot in Central Europe, unusual for this time of year. Children and young people are going back to school, and that goes for me and all my fellow teachers around the world too. What changes…
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Dear readers, writers and supporters,
There is nothing more important than realising that you have to stay true to yourself.
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Phantasmagoria by Frances Mulholland
I’m the edge of the joke You don’t know I’m making.
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A Fair Beginning by Gail Brown
“Guess you don’t have anything either then. I’ll have to try to reach my parents again. Maybe they can send the rent and a few hundred more so I can go visit my girlfriends. Oh, and pay someone to work my shift. I don’t know where they are. They haven’t answered the phone since my…
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the party’s over by Simon Alderwick
i’m staring at an empty page, wondering if i’ll ever write again,
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The Light and the Dark by Debbie Robson
I notice her walking near the Willow Cafe, elegant in a long white dress and stylish hat.
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Two Poems by Maeve McKenna
how life resembles the aftermath of a disappointing storm once damage has passed overhead
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Two Flash Fictions by Kenneth Pobo
I want the sun to kidnap me from this over-carpeted room that smells like candy and perfume.
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How to Manage Tidal Surge and Coastal Erosion by Deborah Harvey
and acres of sea aster sea lettuce sea lavender stretched between us.
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Gaijins Have Blue Eyes by Natalie Nera
Sing Me down from the Dark by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana (2022: Salt Publishing, Cromer), available at https://www.saltpublishing.com/products/sing-me-down-from-the-dark-9781784632762 Reading poetry always triggers many kinds of reactions. The first reaction is usually primal: like or dislike. Only on the second glance, you find yourself exploring the reasons for your emotional response. In Sing Me down from the Dark,…
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Poetry between Languages
‘Nature often permeates my poems because it yields imagery in a very innate way. ‘
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Searching for the Wild Service Tree by Tonnie Richmond
We talked about the Wild Service Tree — I told you how I’d searched for it
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Observing Solitude by Mike Fox
She didn’t really believe in the Centre or its practices, but came here, perhaps repeatedly, despite.
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The Point of Poetry: a Review by Natalie Nera
Mimi German understands very well that a task of a good poetry is to find the words where others fail to verbalize their feelings.
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Escaping Pheasants by Cara McKee
I like it when the pheasants get away, I like to see their ungainly leap from fence or wall like how I imagine I would fly. I like it when they get across the road, not just walking down it like some teenage boy plays chicken / pheasant, I like to hope that in the…
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Editorial
Can anyone be ready for an ever-changing world of literature, unpredictable economic circumstances, world pandemics, wars, illnesses and personal issues that can affect what you are able to do and what you want to do?
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Dear Readers and Supporters,
And just like that we are back. It has been a while since our last “outing”. After Rue Collinge decided to leave Fragmented Voices earlier this year, we decided to turn the situation into an opportunity, for which we needed time to re-group and re-think our strategies. We had to go back to the drawing…
