Aunt Stokesia’s Cave by Kenneth Pobo


A Cage by Victoria Holt, 2016

She says that the only place to live

is a cave.  Salamanders are better company

than people.  They listen

and keep busy.

Stalactites keep us humble,

point tips right at our heads.


Outside of the cave

we get proud.  We cause wars.

The sky is like a store,

always open, wanting us to pop in.


In a cave darkness can be complete,

scary too, but it covers you,

and it feels so good when its long

fingers rub your shoulders.


About the Author:

Kenneth Pobo has nine books published and twenty-one chapbooks.  His most recent book is Wingbuds from, a press in India.  His work has appeared in: Brittle Star, Hawaii Review, Amsterdam Review, and elsewhere.


Madrugada by Clara Burghelea


Mojave by Stela Brix, 2018

Pick out a piece of me- a kneecap, a brittle vein,

then a day of asking the way to undo spilled coffee,

warm yourself against things said late at night,

the underside of my chin, cold beer between your legs

a white moon, taut and urgent, no trick, no trial

just scratch the corners of your nails over my skin.

It is there where the dying begins, the goosebumps

over my ribs won’t whisper a thing the inside storm.

For now, play Yoio Cuesta softly, filling the room with

instances of us going bad, making good. Lay your fat lips,

jitterbugged with sharp-edged kisses, the voice, a saxophone

Sunday cleaning the air in between our bodies.

The insides of my wrists are ready. Let the ink flow.


About the Author:

Clara Burghelea is a Romanian-born poet with an MFA in Poetry from Adelphi University. Recipient of the Robert Muroff Poetry Award, her poems and translations appeared in Ambit, HeadStuff, Waxwing, The Cortland Review and elsewhere. Her collection The Flavor of The Other is scheduled for publication in 2020 with Dos Madres Press. She is the current Poetry Editor of The Blue Nib.


To Live as You Can by Edward Lee


A Bath by Kasia Grzelak, 2018


What business of mine is it

what you do with the coin

I give you, when guilt or largesse,

or some combination of both,

guides my almost clean hand

from my pocket

to your deteriorating cup?


So what if you buy alcohol

instead of food, cigarettes

instead of clothes, harder drugs

instead of a temporary roof?

Is my charity dependent upon

whatever you choose to do

to make it through

another day of an unstable world,

depending on the kindness

of the few who, below

the surface of their shining veneers,

understand how truly un-different they are

from you?


About the Author:

Edward Lee’s poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll.  His debut poetry collection “Playing Poohsticks On Ha’Penny Bridge” was published in 2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.

He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Lewis Milne, Orson Carroll, Blinded Architect, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.

His blog/website can be found at

Causeway by Oz Hardwick

Poetry, Uncategorized



Speak Easy, India Hibbs, 2019

When the tide’s out you can walk to the island. There’s a name for this, but then there’s a name for everything, and knowing that name rarely makes much of a difference, so I decide I may as well make up my own. I decide to call it the by the name of my first pet, a black and white rabbit of which I was inexplicably frightened, just as I was inexplicably frightened of loud noises, mirrors, and the woman who sat on the side of my bed solicitously whispering that she knew everything about me. In truth, at that age there wasn’t much to know, but her voice, the darkness, and the shuffling of the rabbit in the chest of drawers, was enough to tell me that I should be wary of names and dangerous tides. The island isn’t far, and beyond that is a fragmenting Europe, then nothing but melting ice. There are rabbit tracks on the drying sand, the figure of a woman in the dying light. Names keep their power even as their referents recede, and although I keep my lips sealed the sea knows them all.





About the Author:

Oz Hardwick’s work has been published and performed internationally in and on diverse media. His chapbook Learning to Have Lost (Canberra: IPSI/Recent Work, 2018) was the winner in the poetry category of the 2019 Rubery International Book Awards, and his most recent collection – his eighth – is The Lithium Codex (Clevedon: Hedgehog Poetry Press, 2019). Oz is Professor of English at Leeds Trinity University, where he leads the Creative Writing programmes.


This is a Frankenstein Night by Jane Burn


Puddle by Amy McCartney, 2019


This is a Frankenstein Night.

Re-build the monsters in your life. Finish work in the dark, pace
the salted car park to where you parked. You spent the shift
smiling, cramping on un-passed wind. The waistband bites.
Check behind, let go of painful blusters as you waggle across
the stiffened grit. Turn to unlock the car, be feared that someone
might grab your back, pull out your lungs, crack your spine,
ground you like a broken doll. Sit at the wheel and scream
your breath. Press a thumbnail to the opposite hand and scrape

a beautiful traipse of pain. Mourn the lack of spectacle. Too much
night for birds. Snatch what you can from the headlight’s fan.

Stretch your voice to the radio. Make your throat a wishing well.


About the Author:

Jane Burn is a Forward and Pushcart Prize-nominated poet who is based in the North East of England. Her poems have been widely published in many magazines, including Butcher’s Dog, The Rialto, Under the Radar, Crannog, Strix and Iota Poetry. Her work has also been included in anthologies from publishers such as The Emma Press, Seren,  and Smokestack. Since 2014, Jane has been lucky to have success in forty-one poetry competitions. Her eighth book, Yan, Tan, Tether is due to be released by Indigo Dreams.