Poetry by Ivan Peledov: Places They Don’t Mind

Places They Don’t Mind

Twisted alphabets of winds and forests
slightly change with each mile one walks
until they become pure nonsense like time and space
in the twilight composed of countless suicidal bicycles.
Clouds and leaves cover the sky like too many slovenly mothers,
and travelers happily discard their pasts
absorbing the dreams of bottled water.

Bio: Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. His poems have been recently published in SORTES, Mad Swirl, Arc Magazine, and Angel Rust. He is the author of the book Habits of Totems (Impspired, 2021). He can be found online on Twitter @habitsoftotems or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ivan.peledov.

Visual Poetry by Maggs Vibo: Drinking the Ash Pt 1 & 2

Margaret Viboolsittiseri (aka Maggs Vibo) works in print, broadcast, special events, glitch media, and online. She is a contributor for Poem Atlas and has experimental art in the winnow
magazine, Coven Poetry, Ice Floe Press, The Babel Tower Notice Board, ang(st), The Wombwell Rainbow. Recent anthologies include Poem Atlas ‘aww-struck’, Steel Incisors, Fevers of the
Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 (January, 2021) and ‘My teeth don’t chew on shrapnel’: an anthology of poetry by military veterans (Oxford Brookes, 2020). She tweets @maggsvibo
and her website is https://www.maggsvibo.com/

Poetry: Dear, he who must not be named (T/W) by Faye Alexandra Rose

I say I don’t, but I remember that night.


There were eleven lights in the ceiling and five trains went past the window. You told me to
be silent. Not one word or your violence would speak a thousand. It turns out you wrote a
novel all over my skin was a map of the places you had been uninvited. Watercolour bruises I
could not dilute with bleach. I cried to the police reliving that moment once again. The
examination was filled with swabs and humiliation as a male doctor went near my wounds. I
feared men for a long time after, I would even flinch at my brother’s touch. I’d often see red
and lash out, like a bull I would charge at whoever told me “I would be okay.” I can’t even
look in the mirror without seeing shame! I scrub my skin until it bleeds and please don’t
patronise me with so-called kindness! I’m damaged, disgusting, drowning in pain, I can’t
bear to wake up and feel this again, I –
realised I still have breath in my lungs. When I shut my eyes, I feel at peace. I’ve learnt that
quiet thoughts speak volumes. That love doesn’t shout, it whispers. That hands are to hold
and not to make fists with. That for a moment I was hollow, a woman who would wallow in
self-pity until I remembered who I am – A lioness with courage. So, to ‘he who must not be
named’ watch me as I push out my chest and fear the roar that comes from its depths.

Featured image from Unsplash.com from Neonbrand

Faye Alexandra Rose is a UK based writer studying English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Worcester. Her work has been published in several online magazines such as; Mookychick, The Drabble and the online project Poetry & Covid. She is also a Poetry Editor for small leaf press – a magazine dedicated to giving a voice to undiscovered writers. She can be found on Twitter: @FayeAlexandraR1, or via her website: fayealexandrarose.wordpress.com

Anthology Post: Finding a Wonderland in Alice by Paul Brookes (poetry)

1.         Her Hole

A rabbit hole falls into her.

The pocket watch looks at the rabbit

and know it’s late.

 

The big hand claps the little hand

to see such fun.

 

How will the door enter Alice?

Alice says  I am cake. Eat me.

 

The door takes a bite of her hand.

It grows and grows

I am too big to enter you, now,

says the door.

I am a bottle. Drink me,

 

The door sups her

and enters her.

2.         Shuffle

A pack of playing cards

decide to play inside her.

 

They shuffle her into black

and red, divide her into suits,

 

Her heart becomes diamonds

Her hands spades,

Her legs clubs

Her torso hearts.

 

Alice says Off with her head!

to the Queen of her heart,

but the Queen topples

the suits and escapes.

 

Alice has two thumbs:

Tweedledee and Tweedledum

she twiddles in thought.

3.         Tea Party

Teapot is fast asleep

curled inside the dormouse

curled inside Alice.

 

Her table lays the cloth.

The cloth places the teapot,

cups and saucers.

A hat and watch sit on

the only two chairs.

 

Take a seat.

They say in chorus.

 

“There are no seats”

Alice answers.

All the seats taken then.

 

Is it the month of your time?

Ask the hat and the watch

 

“It’s ALWAYS the month of my time

while I’m alive.

 

You ought to eat and drink less.

You’ll get fat.

 

I  have had my fill, she replies

You haven’t had anything

 

Less is more, she answers

and leaves the table

inside her

4.         The Door

Suddenly she feels the alarm

of  the biological pocket watch

inside her.

 

Where, o where could they be.

O, my little hand, o my big hand.

Alice will kill me if I can’t find her

bracelet and mobile.

 

Alice wants to say she has those

already but searches her pockets

and can’t find anything.

 

A door sits beside her

as she begins to cry.

Through her tears she sees

a painting of a tree on the door.

 

Soon her tears make waves,

she swims, but her arms

get tired, so she clambers

on the door where she is dry.

 

She thinks she fell asleep

and opens the tree on the door

and finds herself on the naughty step

of some stairs and a voice says:

 

“Is that you, Alice? You spend

far too much time outside.

Go inside and get some fresh

air and vitamin D from the sun.”

 

She checks her wrist and pockets

and sighs. The tears

must have washed the bracelet

back on her wrist, mobile in her pocket.

 

5.         The Mushroom

sits on a caterpillar

behind Alice’s eyes

The mushroom engrossed

in its mobile phone,

 

Alice says to it:

How are you?

 

I love change too much.

Change isn’t quick enough,

Says the mushroom.

This Caterpillar should have

pupated and flown.

 

Why? Asks Alice.

 

I’m not sure. You

and I should be wrinklies.

You a middle aged woman,

and I mulch for something

creative and growing.

 

Time is too slack. Should

buck its ideas up. If you see

it about give what it for from me.

 

And Alice tries but can get

no more from mobiled mushroom.

6.         The Watch

She hears the biological pocket watch inside her

say  I’m slow, so slow. I’ll be early

and Alice wants me

not too early, not too late

but prompt. O, my little hand,

my big hand.

 

In its more haste less speed

Alice sees something drop

from its pocket.

 

It is a silver nomination bracelet,

and a mobile phone.

 

Alice picks them up

and shouts after the watch

but it has gone.

 

So she tries on the bracelet

and it fits. The mobile won’t

work because you have

 to key in

the correct code.

 

That’ll teach it to look after things,

she thinks.

7.         Reduces

A court rises in her.

A scroll unfurls and reads from

her biological pocket watch

Tarts have stolen the Knave.

 

Alice is the judge.

Alice is the Knave.

The judge is the accused.

The accused is the judge.

 

Testimony transcribes the witnesses.

The spaces between their words testify.

 

Hat says the party is always ending.

He does not know when

it began to end.

 

Off with the head

of the guilty, Alice says.

Evidence is an atom.

 

Alice is guilty, says

the heart of the Queen.

 

Alice feels herself getting smaller.

She cannot see over

her desk.

 

Alice has disappeared,

says her pocket watch

Everything gets smaller.

Bracelet and mobile left on the chair.

 

Alice feels these are the worst

days of her death that glorious

summer afternoon she finds herself

beneath a tree in a stranger place.

 

Paul Brookes is a shop asst. His chapbooks include The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017),  She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Recently had work broadcast on BBC Radio 3 The Verb. Paul also runs a poetry blog site http://www.thewombwellrainbow.com for book reviews, art, poetry, and more! Follow on Twitter @PaulDragonwolf1 “Curator and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Book Interviews and poetry and artwork challenges”. YouTube site: “Poetry Is A Bag For Life”, Soundcloud is “The Wombwell Rainbow” Facebook: Paul Brookes – Writer and Photographer

The Unresolveables (An Heroic Crown Sonnet Sequence) by Paul Brookes at (sonnets 1-15)

3 Poems by Paul Brookes in FOTM Poetry Digest Issue 2 Her Fiftieth, Her Fur Elise, A Black Bead

Wolfpack Contributor: Paul Brookes

Featured image is from Unsplash.com Sincerely Media.

Poetry: Dream Upon Waking by Mike Hickman

Dream Upon Waking

What if you knew that the dream is only a dream upon waking?
The night’s stories post-hoc assembled
from the first fragments of consciousness,
from the returning of the light and the regaining of the senses?
Everywhere you’ve been and all the time you’ve been away
invented in the slightest seconds of reboot;
non-memory rewritten, non-existence papered-over with
an illusion that you’ve been somewhere
and the story has continued,
when – in truth – there’s been no you and no story
and no dreams at all in those absent hours.
What if you knew that for sure?
Should that scare or comfort when contemplating the deeper sleep?
That we need to be conscious to be conscious of ourselves and what we’ve been?
That non-conscious means no self to dream, no past to haunt and no future to fear?
What might you do then with the moments to come?

Mike Hickman (@MikeHicWriter) is a writer from York, England. He has written for Off the Rock Productions (stage and audio), including 2018’s “Not So Funny Now” about Groucho Marx and Erin Fleming. He has recently been published in EllipsisZine, Dwelling Literary, Bandit Fiction, Nymphs, Flash Fiction Magazine, Brown Bag, and Safe and Sound Press. His co-written, completed six-part BBC radio sit com remains unproduced but available to interested producers!