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Iter Sapientis
by Jack Morris
So, the wise men leave the shore

into the ocean, old and far

as first of wood boats row and heave

blindly t’ward Madagascar

 

a finer journey, one could say

than Aldrin or Columbus knew

the struggle of primeval hands

now hands of me, and thus, of you

 

at last, we found first foreign soil

& fast we killed the angry ape

in early egos killing spree

then rowed on south t’ward the cape

 

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Jack Morris is a writer, musician & poet from South Dublin. His first poetry collection is due for publication in  late 2017.

 

 

 

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The five senses of Elie

by Andrew Lawson

His young eyes
witnessed
the low ebb
of humanity
babies in flames
reflecting
a thousand
degradations

His ears
heard
the rattling of the box car
an older woman’s vision
look look
that fire
it is a furnace
women to the left
men to the right
His nose
smelled
fear and feces
skin and bone
cremation and ash
a scent of oblivion
His throat
tasted
thick soup
black
bitter
coffee
swallowed
pride
His feet
felt numbness
running on the cold
harsh earth
his hands
formed into a fist
felt rage
Andrew Lawson hails from Connecticut USA he pens song lyrics, poetry, children stories and ghost and an eclectic mishmash
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the miss of sisyphus

by Martin McKenna 

 

i have asked

rich women and men;

do the dead mourn us?

 

i have asked

the drunk and dosed;

when we are dead,

will we mourn the living?

 

i have asked

fathers of women,

brides and their sons;

what can the dead see?

 

in their tired confusion

they rise up, high

in thorned anger; attack,

bleed me cold, but

fail to break

what i know to be

unbreakable truth

only sullied love might touch.

 

and of you, perfection,

i asked nothing.

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from cave hill

by Martin McKenna

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i carve you out

of already alive

and lavish landscapes; build silent

lived horizons about you, still do.

 

i paint the offing of you,

still raise with care

some infant dreams.

 

write lines, fill books

foaming toward a ceiling;

no wheres and not heres,

form rock crop parts

of this place, hold all and none

as room for this

static sketch of breath.

 

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Marty is an independent Irish poet, born in Tyrone, now living and writing in Belfast. Marty works for the Belfast Trust and has poems published in both online and print journals. He is currently submitting work for publication which will inform his first collection.

 

 

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