Dream Big You Said To Me by Mark McConville

Dream Big You Said To Me.   You write with elegance And dance through the hallway when the poetry flows And astounds, and makes you quiver, It’s your medication.   I observe you nailing unwanted notes On a wall coloured in red That’s where the rejection letters hang It’s a shrine of war and blood,…

Interesting Times by Ian Lewis Copestick

I suppose this it what it must have been like to have lived during the war, or the depression. With shortages and rationing, worry and fear. For me, it’s the first time that I’ve ever been to shops and seen the shelves mostly empty, and I’ll tell you what, it’s weird, it’s really fucking weird….

Drunken Charade by Mark McConville

Drunken Charade. Choose your path One that illuminates One that takes you through events And neon lit alleyways where alcohol tinged Human beings populate and tell their tales.   You’ve been waiting for this moment When all shackles are cut When freedom feels euphoric It all feels manic too In these testing times where hearts…

Pomegranate by Ian Lewis Copestick

I think, cringing of when I was at school, early teens, thinking I was the next Joe Strummer. A few short years later wishing I was ” On The Road ” really, I was barely able to cross it. Next, a virginal Henry Miller fan. Well, I guess I wasn’t the first one of those….

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One by Paul D. Brazill

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Ginger Ronny had told Burkey about the murder towards the bitter end of one of their occasional raucous Tuesday night drinking sessions, as the dawn had desperately begun to grasp for life and Malcolm Duffy was grumpily getting ready to close up Le Duffy. But it wasn’t until…

A Magical Time by Ian Lewis Copestick

I’m sitting here and thinking of when I wrote my first few poems. It was a magical time.  It was a cold, cold winter and I was working nine and a half hour night shifts in a cardboard box factory. It took me over an hour to get there, and the same to get back….

Weather, Or Not by Ian Lewis Copestick

It’s a grim, grey rainy night water running in the gutters. At six p.m., it’s starting to go dark and the day is winding down. I can’t wait for a couple of months to go by, and for the nights to become lighter and for the sun to begin to shine. Anyone who says that…

Yesterday’s Wine by Paul D. Brazill

Pauline Williams really hadn’t wanted to talk to her brother. Not for a while, anyway. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder recently. She’d had more than enough of Billy’s shenanigans over the years, so she started to ignore his text messages and calls. She’d even unfriended him on Facebook. But when she found out…

This grey/green landscape by Ian Lewis Copestick

I look out through dusty white nets at this grey/green landscape that I have seen for nearly every day of my entire bloody life. At 2:46 this march, in pastel colours, afternoon it’s beautiful, bathed washed in a pale spring sunlight. I remember a scouse dealer telling me that he thought where I lived was…

True Crimes by Ian Lewis Copestick

Every night we watch true crime programmes on T.V. Tonight the inevitable happened, one crime slid into another. My wife asked  “Do you get this ? Why did he kill him ?” I said ” Well, obviously it was the ten grand. ” ” No, Ian that was the last programme. The one that was…