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New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

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Aneurysm

by Akshaya Pawaskar

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Thrum, a vessel in the brain
Fattened globe, thinned out

A worn ticking clock, about
to run out of time, gilt hands

In stupor, languorous eternal
Unbeknown a fountain exists.

Plasma, floating discs red and
White, hose pipe brittle, crack

Squirt blood in tissues, map
of vegetable life, homunculus.

Sleep as you listen to the blip

Of Ventilator, locked in, a log.

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Akshaya Pawaskar is a doctor practicing in India and poetry is
her passion. Her poems have been published in Tipton Poetry journal, Writer’s Ezine, Efiction India, Ink drift, The blue nib, Her heart poetry, Awake in the world anthology by Riverfeet press and few anthologies by lost tower publications. She had been chosen as ‘Poet of the week’ on Poetry superhighway and featured writer in Wordweavers poetry contest

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Stranger in a Small Town

by Ash Slade

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Midnight cloak walks in like an outsider
behind golden star and discus facade.
Bitter wind punishes this divider.
Branches swung windowpanes were crudely clawed
utility poles became lightning rods.
Folks came from miles ’round to lonely town
catching rare glimpses of rebel outlaws.
Writers found plenty of tales to jot down.

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Headlines plastering newspapers statewide.
spectators hooked on this mystery guy.
Cryptic background, aspirations held high
tattered knapsack dangles from his backside.
Actions were quick, precise, and improvised.
bemused glare at folks walking hurried streets.
Ragged, vagabond, man slept on curbside.
winding roads pages, footsteps crumbled “beats.”

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Autumn Nights Spent Gazing

by Ash Slade

On an autumn night, I gazed out my window,
fixing my sight on a star stenciled abyss-
wondering if prayers flew, how high they’d go
or if they could even reach loved ones I miss.

 

Fixing my sight on a star stenciled abyss-
Searching night’s stillness, seeking answers,
or even if they could reach loved ones I miss.
Lights sparkling, are twilight’s angel dancers.

 

Searching night’s stillness, seeking answers,
wondering if prayers flew, how high they’d go.
Lights sparkling, are twilight’s angel dancers.
On an autumn night, I gazed out my window

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Ash Slade considers himself to be a mysterious person. Poetry has been his passion since 12 years old in 7th grade. A poem can take minutes or days to write, each one is important. Ash lives in Connecticut in a small New England town. Hobbies included collecting notebooks and poetry books.

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By Mike McNamara

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Wide open spaces. Past, empty places;

plains and a distant star.

Vast and silent golden fields.

A forgotten toy car

caked in dust.

The melting tar

of one endless summer,

far, so very far.

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By Mike McNamara

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No one touches her breast

or brushes her lips with theirs.

She slips between the gaps

where backroads

intersect with mainstreets

lost between the hours

of longing and remembrance.

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Born in  Northern Ireland but living in S. Wales,  Mike McNamara has had a collection of poetry ‘Overhearing The Incoherent’ published by Grevatt and Grevatt  in 1997. Mike is lead singer with Big Mac’s Wholly Soul Band.  His poetry has been published in Envoi, Orbis, Tears in the Fence, New Welsh Review, The Dawntreader, etc. Mike also had a selection of poems published in The Pterodactyl’s Wing (Parthian, 2003)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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