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Last Night
        by Kevin Jackson
Last night I lit a candle

It tip toed for a while before
plucking up the courage to dance

I’d never liked it
its dumpy heart-shaped body looked
like something to barrel
oily brandy

It soothed through an evening
stark with winter
loosened the darkness and in the spaces
slid soft shadows that tai-chi’d
with my slow-turning thoughts

No gorillas here
just me, my
shuffle thoughts and the candle

At some hour
its flame flared angry, there was a rush of wet wax

Then smorzando

Round its remains today I found pale figures
resting on tar-black slate
a lopsided butterfly
a one legged ballerina with a tiny hat
a seahourse
several sagging diamonds

And a heart
Bio: Kevin Jackson has  always loved literature and especially poetry.  He's been writing poetry off and on (mainly off) for ages but a career change two years back spurred him into writing with greater purpose and confidence and he's been writing regularly since on many topics that feel alive to him. He lives in the UK and has a background in training and for the last 2 years has run his own management training business, which he loves.  It's been a revelation how poetry can enable managers and leaders to express, inspire and connect.






 by John Grey


Late spring cold, everything’s confusion.

Flowers find themselves on the wrong stage.

Bewildered animals wish that they

could take their sperm back.

Trees sprouting new leaves,

shudder at the death of the old ones.


Robins dart frantically back and forth

across the hard lawn,

cut off from their worms

like they’re children under ice.


I stare quizzically at the calendar

on behalf of all migrating birds,

creatures out of hibernation.

Your hug that should be about sweaty passion

is wood-stove thick and close.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Granted, the winter would never say that.



Bio: John Grey has been published recently in the Georgetown Review, The Pinch,  South Carolina Review and The Pedestal. with work upcoming in Alimentum and Big Muddy.




Tyre ~830 BCE

  by Ryan Holden

                        an ecstatic clearing of debris

brush the birds & the olives away


                        not marble but the albinism

of limestone & breath-choked


                        what of the purpose of beauty

the chisel & hammer


                        an invocation of kindness

craft the uncreated woman



flesh exposed by patience &


                        sweep the white pebbles under

the shade of small grasses & dying trees


                        a name a breath a tongue

an elbow a breast a stone


Bio: Ryan Holden is a graduate student in Creative Writing at Arizona State University. He has poems forthcoming in Leaf Garden Press, Up the Staircase, and Country Dog Review. He received an Honorable Mention for The Katharine C. Turner Prize of The Academy of American Poets in 2009. He has received a fellowship to teach at Sichuan University in Chengdu, China for the summer of 2010.