The house opposite
is allowed to sleep
through winter,
its cupboards hollow,
its corners scoured
of their spiders. Continue reading The House Opposite by Hilary Hares
The house opposite
is allowed to sleep
through winter,
its cupboards hollow,
its corners scoured
of their spiders. Continue reading The House Opposite by Hilary Hares
Lady Lassitude is listless;
sits like a thistle
in that same chair,
legs bare. Continue reading House of Chains by Kathy Gardiner
the autopsy
my cold body was in the morgue
under a blank white sheet
until the forensic pathologist took it off
the fatal wounds were obvious Continue reading Two poems by Vanessa Maki
A walk in the woods is not the same
as a walk in the park, of this much I am certain. Continue reading Winter Forest by Sanda Moore Coleman
The lonely girls eats a cookie alone. Crumbs matter not at all for no one shall punish her. There is no priest here and certainly no sanctuary for playing in. He left to be an engineer of hierarchies. Continue reading Not your type of alone by Elisabeth Horan
Dark came to the Charnel House
by way of bats and roaches Continue reading Visiting the Charnel House by Hilary Hares
A prophecy
I had a little twin
He was my mortal foe.
I killed him in the womb
so I was born alone. Continue reading The Song of the Twinless Twin by Jude Cowan Montague
Across the river a horse whinnies, reminding her
of the brutish hero in Jane Eyre, of that holiday
on the moors as a girl, walking around the parsonage
the scrawled handwriting behind sealed glass. Continue reading The Memory by Rachel Burns
The slack-jawed captain,
who thought he could quell
an ancient mutiny
by a simple crew majority. Continue reading Who Lied About the Mermaid’s Ghost? by Chris Hemingway
I am sat cross-legged.
I have turned out all the lights and am sitting quietly,
just as you like me – Continue reading Waiting for You to Come Back by Zoë Sîobhan Howarth-Lowe
you slit my throat,
drank my blood
from my own goblet Continue reading taste the darkness by Linda M. Crate
What Orpheus did not know, of course,
was that she had flirted with death,
that the love-bite of the needle had already
pierced her skin Continue reading What Orpheus Did Not Know by Sanda Moore Coleman