Tag: poem

Songs Written for Everyone – Tiffany Belieu

and no one
said they heard you

like I did in all the songs
about other girls

you said shut up they don’t 
write songs about us 

but smiled and swayed
when I whispered 

your name is the sigh 
of long grass

sharp as glass bottle cuts
on the bare foot of               

summer, confetti left
longingly after a parade –

the things that stick and sting
and stay

you called them meaningless
words from an in-love tongue 

but I didn’t hear
over the music you make

 

Tiffany Belieu is working hard on her dream of writing. Her work is published or forthcoming in Back Patio Press, Q/A Poetry, Muskeg Magazine, Rabid Oak and The Mantle among others. She loves tea and cats and can be found @tiffobot on Twitter

Pulse – Chella Courington

You talk to him
as if you care, rest

your fingers on his wrist,
touch him

longer

than needed. No!
You are the woman

lulled to sleep
in my arms,

My arms. Holding
you like Diego’s lilies

and now you turn
your back

on me. I’m close enough
to hear you lay

one word on top
another, holding back

a consonant
so he will want to dig.

What drawls in your bones
shakes my insides.

 

Chella Courington is a writer and teacher whose poems and stories appear in numerous anthologies and journals including Spillway, The Collagist, and The Los Angeles Review. Her novella, Adele and Tom: The Portrait of a Marriage, is forthcoming from Breaking Rules Publishing. Originally from the Appalachian South, Courington lives in California with another writer.  Visit her website at chellacourington.net

Dad, not Daddy – Denna Berg

I was so afraid of becoming his mom, that I became his dad.

Thinking we were subverting the norms;
because he washed the floors and I paid for the roof.
because he cooked the food and I drove the groceries home.

But the same walls were built.

We thought by trading spots we would build something new,
but we just read the same blueprint in the mirror.

We played house until the structure crumbled,
unable to hold the weight
the oven ripe with fresh cookies. 

 

 

Denna Berg was born and raised in Toronto, Canada, although her main hobby is taking long plane rides away from there. As a policy advisor during the day, she is new to embracing her creative writing abilities. When she is not coddling her words, you can also find her exploring groceries or trying to clear her schedule to make time for naps.

slither in – Ada Pelonia

you tell me your dreams about snakes.
there’s the lingering question of what 
was happening    it’s been constant, you 
tell me, and i nod because i’m afraid of
snakes and i don’t have much to say 
but you bug me by telling it’s probably
the phallic symbol as siri told you so 
and i only laugh 

but in my head maybe
it’s because you slithered your way into
our home without you knowing i knew.
i want to tell you that i dream about
snakes, too, and that they eat me whole
alive and well until their fangs pierce 
right through my heart breaking every
string of vein constricting in my body
and i might add that the snake has the
same voice as you do when he answered
your call late at night to slip out of the
sheets i thought he only warmed for us 
two    that perhaps the snake is both of
us in context i’m not entirely sure

 

 

Ada Pelonia is a writer from the Philippines. Her work has appeared in Germ Magazine, Royal Rose Magazine, 101 Words, and elsewhere. Besides reading fictional books and reading anything that comes to her mind, she enjoys drinking tea during rainy days. She’s also on Twitter @_adawrites.

 

 

 

 

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

She Was My Sister – Khaloud Al-Muttalibi

It may take a weird coincidence to make you feel relaxed
It may take the special touch of fine frost to turn
your head into a bulletin board.
We gathered, around the TV to watch the latest news. I thought
I had spotted some of your mates but could not say
It may take ice and fingers of flakes
to write about how you had danced your night away
to the bombing sound of rock and roll
In a mortuary, a young woman lay. She was
my sister, they say

 

Khaloud Al-Muttalibi is a poet and translator. She resides in the United Kingdom. She is the author of six poetry collections. She has also translated and edited two separate anthologies. Her poetry has been published in numerous magazines and journals, including After the Pause, The Glasgow Review of Books, Anapest, Harbinger Asylum, Ink Sweat & Tears and Poetry24.