Poem, Poetry

Adam Chiles

Sunday’s at my Grandmother’s House

By 4 it was already dark. The remains of the roast
put away. I’d wander the house then,
studying her walls, the faded brass of stirrups,
horseshoes, yellowed portraits of the dead.

Each visit, she’d lament the state of things,
the corner store open now on Sundays.
From her window, frown at the young women
in their Bombay silks walking home down

Westfield Road. That was 1975. The foundries
long closed. Their chimneys blackened against
Bradford’s millstone walls. My Grandmother
observed her late sabbaths, alone. The nearby Calder

running its metal through her veins. Her cadence,
hardening. Her face, the silhouette of another world.



Adam Chile’s first collection of poems, ‘Evening Land’ (Cinnamon Press) was nominated for the 2009 Gerald Lampert Memorial award for best debut collection in Canada. His second collection Bluff has been accepted by Measure Press and will be published in Summer 2021. Adam’s work has been anthologized in Best New Poets 2006 (Samovar) and has appeared in numerous journals including Barrow Street, Beloit Poetry Journal, Cimarron Review, Copper Nickel, Cortland Review, Connotation Press, Gulf Coast, Indiana Review, The Literary Review, Magma, Permafrost, RHINO, The Threepenny Review and Thrush Poetry Review.

Adam grew up on the east coast of Yorkshire and now lives in Virginia, USA. He is professor of English and Creative Writing at Northern Virginia Community College and serves on the editorial board at Poet Lore.

Poem, Poetry

D. S. Maolalai

Dublin. Covid. Late afternoon.

the shops
all boarded up
with old plywood
and posters.

people
gone walking
and the faces
of shut shops. dublin
well-dusted
with an all-over
rustiness. carlight
on fox-fur
in a ditch
by the road. the sun-

set on flowers.
the collapse
of a lifetime. the world
all a detail
of fading
cracked bricks.





DS Maolalai has been nominated eight times for Best of the Net and five times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019)

Twitter: @diarmo1990

Poem, Poetry

Craig Dobson

Bearings

Less a border than an end of choice:
marsh land, mists, cries to frighten any night.
Beyond are stone lands; beyond those: ice.
Law here favours the living.

Furs, amber, mammoth calves,
whale snout, slaves and dirt-strong
spirit, moving both ways
like souls uncertain of themselves.

Business happens quick, never alone.
Dogs smell fear, wolves and the weak.
Grey tomorrow, grey today.
What must is done, then stole away.

All the cold of stone and water
worshipping only wind: gulls for seraph,
moans for prayer, a god of storms
to wash off blood. Those with fire die for it.

Litter migrates north. Oils, plastic, the jitter
of nuclear spill. Currents pass on
what isn’t eaten by the starving shoals;
nothing is wasted save regret.

The real trade’s in ghosts, though:
the myths of myths of more. For those,
men go farther still, into cold so fast
they’re young again before they die –

just before – the flint kindnesses
giving in, the greed freezing their eyes
to dream the wounded time again,
striking nothing’s richest need.




Craig’s been published in Acumen, Agenda, Antiphon, Butcher’s Dog, Crannóg, The Frogmore Papers, Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Interpreter’s House, The London Magazine, Magma, Neon, New Welsh Review, The North, Orbis, Pennine Platform, Poetry Ireland Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Poetry Village, Prole, The Rialto, Stand, Southword and Under The Radar.

Poem, Poetry

Tim Dwyer

As Different As We Are

The young inmates nearly trusted me-
their streets had been my streets
before they were born.

We knew late night joy
riding out back of the last subway car,
crossing the bridge into Brooklyn.

Approaching the tunnel,
we gazed at the uncertain promises
of the city’s countless lights.

Tim Dwyer is the author of Smithy Of Our Longings (Lapwing). His poems have recently appeared in Cyphers and Hold Open The Door, the Irish Poetry chair anthology, and forthcoming in Amethyst, Atrium, and The High Window. He moved recently from the U.S. and now lives in Bangor, Northern Ireland.

Poem

Geoffrey Heptonstall

Primavera

The house they built became my parents’ life.
Some trees grew and others fell
levelling the foundations
in ploughed clay and sand
of marsh islet earth.

They found fragments,
neither memory nor myth,
but a history marked on discarded maps,
a settlement no-one has seen.

Capable hands had carved the stones.
Spires of gothic fingers
traced the indented detail
to the master’s taste.
Mannered, on high ground,
was evidence of grandeur
that had passed with the shifts of the river,
defining the boundaries of parish
and what an eye may possess.

The new house was never still.
The sense, the shadow, almost the sound,
would haunt our presumption.
It was not a place to be alone.
Now it is somewhere remembered
other children listen for our tread.

Geoffrey Heptonstall’s publications include  a novel, Heaven’s Invention [Black Wolf], and two poetry collections, The Rites of Paradise and Sappho’s Moon [Cyberwit]. He has written a number of plays and monologues.  His radio work includes The Upstart Crow [BBC Radio3]. For several years he was a reviewer for The London Magazine.