Coming Home / The Great Railway Station Robbery – by NICK KITTO

Coming Home?   We lie entwined, the silence Between us punctuates the Bardic tangle Our very joining Elemental, and now I Feel all of me Deep within, her Murmured moans as Moorland wind The warm enclosure Of her Unforgettable, burned In memories, suspended At synapse, who could Have known, that chance Meeting, a poet, catalyst…

Poetry from PAUL TRISTRAM

Looking Straight Down Her Nose, Always (She Blames The Very People She’s Being Mean To?)   There is an unnatural fury inside, hippopotamus size. Cold, murderous stares from a ridiculously unfair, judgemental mind. Her little black book is quite fat in size, actually and is full of victims/punch bags not lovers. Yes, that’s a husband…

Dulla Bhatti – by PRERNA BAKSHI

Dulla-Bhatti (First appeared in Pear Drop)   “Sundar Mundriye ho! Tera kaun vichaara ho! Dulla Bhatti walla ho!”   Catching me by surprise, sang my father, in Punjabi on the phone, when I called on Lohri – a harvest festival. Excited like a young boy whose Christmas came early, he sang the folk song that…

Rhyming Rues – by SRISHTI DUTTA CHOWDHURY

 Rhyming Rues -Srishti Dutta Chowdhury     trimmed claws across gran’s terracottaterrace sounds of a lonely conchshelledanklet, as a wayward windmill lands against notes of sonatamoonlit, while auburnish-yarned-fur steps across stackedkeysbrown, pleasing cinnamon-cochlea; i will rush back to the moonfield soon, cross whitefence-picketed to get my crookedsweater knitted neat-right. *** This year’s recipient of the CWIT Scholarship for Creative Writing at…

I’d Rather Capitulate to Satan – by MICHAEL MARROTTI

I woke up on a Saturday morning hungover, but with good intentions. My head was throbbing, so was my urine erection. I rolled over on my right side to the sexy, soft body laying next to me. I slipped it in with ease. She had a post evening moist vagina. I cupped her tit with…

Invisible Man – by C. C. O’HANLON

  I can’t say when, exactly, I became invisible. There were intimations of it – in the eyes of shop assistants focussed elsewhere, or not at all, when I spoke to them, and younger, busier people that bumped and jostled me, saying nothing, I am not a small man. I am robust and upright. I occupy space….

Of Darker Things – by LEE HAMBLIN

Of Darker Things   They spoke of many things that day. But mainly they spoke of yesterdays. Or, to paint the more truthful picture; it was the old man who spoke, and the son who listened.   He listened to every word the old man uttered from lips faded and cracked by eighty-seven summers. He…

The First Sip – by PENNY BARRATT

The First Sip By Penny Barratt     “Are you feeling OK?” he asked as I pulled open the passenger door with uncoordinated force. He adjusted his sunglasses in the rear view mirror without bothering to look me in the face. “Because if you’re sick in my car I will never give you a lift…