This website will feature a selection of poems from current issues of the magazine, the site will be updated as soon as the in-print magazine is dispatched. Red winged bird flies south. She dances on air swishing her hips in dextrous movements of ruby-gown exuberance. Gold and amethyst fall from her hand regal embellishments for a tarnished land. The moon is red, Does this now mean the world will end, The moon is red, Perhaps the ancients us misled.
Total eclipse can light rays bend, Towards the moon a red glow send, The moon is red.
They are empty days, lived in a haze of Monochrome dot noise. After the anguish Subsides and the knots inside ravel. After clinging on for dear life to a Deadly pain like a heart stabbing knife that Reminds me to stay alive. Empty days That slip by, unnoticed, even by me. Let he nuclear weapons fall from the Skies, there s nothing here to obliterate.