Brexit Update

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We view the prospect before us
with the uncertain mood of our weather
clutching all kinds of lucky charms
in shallow sleep we stormed away from the mainland
now all our fingers are crossed
that we don't wake up up
to our necks in deep water

Our seers are forecasting like mad
but who can really see around corners
no-one here would like to
find themselves adrift in a slo-mo crash
but our brave faces harbour fears
of tragic pile-ups on this treacherous road

A fever runs throughout the land
all that could be said to others gallops
round and round our splitting heads
yet at the chance to speak we trade
slogan for slogan laughing off the gravity
posed as bouyant and light-headed hahaha

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Contributor: Aureane Roullier

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A poem to challenge your mind
To test if you are truly kind
Below trees, a tin man entwined
His heart adrift, but stars aligned

A song to move your heart and soul
To prove to you exists a soul
You’re hurting, diamonds look like coal
Your love torn, may it never dull

An aquarium to burst from
To take a risk, and try a plumb
A mind loved created outcome
A mind loved is sung like a hum

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Haibun: April 19, Tuesday

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Contributor: Adam Henze

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Bumblebees are back, listing between bushes outside sliding door. Burly and yellow, twirling like little helicopters. Dancers at daybreak. One bee more curious than others, bobbing almost robotically at my eyeline. Wonder if she’s the same bumbly from previous spring I used to obsess over. Used to stare out shades fixated.

"It’s well-documented that the government is funding development of nanotechnology."

Last spring I screamed at bees and swatted at air. Swore I’d slice it open and find camera parts inside. Last spring I told Leslie the bees are spying on me. Looked at me crazy. Pretty sure she was already thinking of leaving.

Last spring I closed the blinds and cried conspiracy. But today, shades are pulled high. All I see outside are happy bees.

cherry blossoms and
coralburst crabapples bloom
stuck inside writing

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Adam Henze is a doctoral candidate at Indiana University, specializing in literacy and education. He is the director of Slam Camp, a summer academy for teenage writers, and also hosts a writing workshop series at the Indiana Women's prison.

calm in the chaos of our hearts

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Contributor: Justin Hedstrom

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is there a light
in that poem
i sit at a window
at the river
of saint paul
the stormtroopers
down the hill
upon us
but we are not alone
we are beacons
of a commemoration
we stand unafraid
of the failure
of governments
as sons and daughters
of Whitman
calm in the chaos of our hearts
and strong

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Justin Hedstrom is a writer and photographer from St. Paul, MN.

A Figure Stands There

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Contributor: Adam Whitworth

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It worries me not I seem a scarecrow
only the odd wind fluttering my suit
sunsets I've seen at the old riverbank
and faraway lights on the other side

colour draining slowly from the landscape
when day ends his project and turns away
in the gloom melancholy is mine yet
the very next day I'm inclined to paint

and sometimes it's clear I'm not even there
but flailing away in the capsized mind
I could be muttering angry curses
or fled to fields I wish into being

and so I'll seem a scarecrow if you will
buffetted by such enlivening winds

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Contributor: Aparna Sanyal

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This day seems pregnant
A coy, fertile inamorata
Of Time, in his most masculine form
Rushing, striding, belligerently forth
While this day
She waits
Trembling, collects dry leaves and moss
From the season, past
To pad her womb make it ready, soft
For what is surely to come
It will not stop

This day seems pregnant
Fulsome with seed, joy on her face
Fear underneath
Her water waits
To be broken in gushing waterfalls
Make verdant valleys, streams
Parched croaks turn into tuneful bird calls

This day, she is waiting
Breath fraught with thoughts of fruition
Palpitate her core of twigs and leaves
See! Flowers and berries commissioned

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An MA from Kings College, London, Aparna has co- authored over 30 scripts for an award- winning animated show. She is a writer with the Film Writers Association, India.
She has written a short film, produced two critically acclaimed plays and is an award-winning furniture designer.
She is a well-known Spoken Word Poet and performs at several venues across India. Represented by a literary Agency, she is actively seeking publishers for her 2 manuscripts of poetry.
She has Recurrent Depressive Disorder. Poetry is her release from this consummate shade.
She lives with her husband and 3-year-old son in Pune, India.


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Contributor: Jun Lit

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I asked friends much younger
if they have ever
tried catching
June beetles and tying
each on the hind legs
with a piece of string,
and swinging
it round and round to fly
like imaginary choppers,
buzzing . . .
they looked at me,
staring blankly.

nah, Sir, can’t relate (lol!)
and all they can say
is, they know how to play
fidget spinners
they’re online gamers
a year ago AngryBirds
and recently EverWing.

Ages apart
Worlds apart
Nature’s afar,
A place called Avatar.

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Jun Lit (real name: Ireneo L. Lit, Jr.) teaches biology at the University of the Philippines Los Baños, conducts research & publishes scientific papers on insects, and writes poems about nature and society.

The Good Citizen

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Contributor: Judy Moskowitz

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Validated ignorance a true bliss
they pass along their special gift
reading headlines with frozen smiles
a silicone nightmare
with a bite deep
as a rabid virus
cutting through to the bone
they say some snakes can eat
a body whole
life is a complex organism
one cell at a time
it starts to multiply and divide
into a sea of bottom feeders

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Judy Moskowitz, a professional jazz musician, has been published in Poetry Life And Times, Michael Lee Johnson's anthology, Indiana Voice Journal, Whispers Of The Wind

As Ashes Dissipate

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Contributor: Jose Maria Carpizo

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As ashes dissipate
Birds stop singing
Dropping from heights
Broken necks on the ground

No more cinders in air
Golden dust hangs in the afternoon
Everything is clear now
Like irides blue of your eyes

Patched in gray semen ashes
And black fresh hemoglobin
Burned mountains are in mourning

Breaking hides behind bushes
Rattles. Roars. Howls. Feathers.
Flame. Latent seed
Waiting to light the hills

Frogs spring into the lake
For shelter. No one speaks.
No one shouts. Everything wails.
When no one sees you
You are safe.

Hawk's yellow eye nebula
Glides hidden beyond ocher clouds
Whistles long. Sharp. Rapacious.
Stares with galloping indifference
Fire growing on heels
Of fleeting people to
Countries closing gates

We inhale uncertain smoke
What are we so proud of?
Better to exhale
Bougainvillea blossoms
Of constant sheltering wine

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Immigrant from Mexico. I've been here for long time. Bilingual poet. I start writing poetry since 2012. This is my first submission. My greatest challenge, writing poetry in English.

Midnight Squatters

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Contributor: Donal Mahoney

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Homeless man
in a Trayvon hoodie
under an old raincoat,
a gift today from

the Salvation Army,
sits like a capital L
against the wall
of a downtown bank

while a homeless cat
strolls around him,
hoping for bits of ham
from the gnawed remains

of yesterday's sandwich
as happens many nights
when the cat visits him
despite no bell or kettle.

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Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

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