four degrees plus
first they said
it’s not happening,
then they said
it’ll never happen
it’s not our fault
ice ages come around
all the time
then they said
it won’t happen in our lifetime
in our children’s lifetime
but hopefully not
and by then
the technology to deal with it
we’re an adaptable species
let’s look at
better wine perhaps but
if there is one
Walking by the shore instead
Someone on the radio is banging on,
reportage of truths and alternative truths,
falsehood and fantasy
When I was a kid it was the six o’clock news
We’d sit and watch smart men in suits
tell us how BBC it was
Now I am straight-jacketed by sharp opinion
These quarrels fly at me from crossbows
aimed right at my head
I want to duck and weave, get out of range
before the bowman reaches again into
his quiver of news
Then the man on the radio says how a walk
on the shores of the Bosphorus always
seems to re-energise him
I worry that, if I walk away now, the fortunes
of the world will be in the hands of archers,
firing arrows and bolts
not from out the blue, but with arrow heads
dipped in outrageous, deadlier poison
no shoreline walk can cleanse
Pat Edwards is a writer, teacher and performer living in Mid Wales. She has been published on line, such as in Picaroon, The Rat’s Ass, Amaryllis and Ink Pantry, and in some anthologies including Wenlock Poetry Festival Anthology 2016. She runs Verbatim open mic nights in Welshpool and Montgomery and is curating this year’s Welshpool Poetry Festival.
When she leaves, some say
it is an act of bravery,
some say it’s running away.
Really, it was a necessity,
a feeling in her gut.
But she’ll come back for her city,
for her man, for doors not shut.
She’s hoping for a change,
a chance to make the cut.
Her city’s looking strange,
too many zeros on its rent.
We used to save for rainy days,
but now the money is all spent.
And oh the theatres, and the cinemas,
we’ll wonder where they went.
Art stripped away for soulless bars,
we’ll miss beer-soaked wood
the smell of salt and vinegar.
Carmina Masoliver is a poet and teacher from London, England. She is founder of She Grrrowls feminist arts night, and is a regular contributor to The Norwich Radical. Her work has been published in various magazines and anthologies, such as Popshot, and her chapbook was published by Nasty Little Press in 2014. She has featured at events including Bang Said the Gun, Latitude, Lovebox, Bestival and Goldsmith University’s The Place for Poetry. She has facilitated workshops independently, as well as whilst shadowing Ross Sutherland, Niall O’Sullivan, and Michael Rosen. She currently lives and works in Córdoba, Spain.
We have cast ourselves out
Over the door floats an angel,
his blackened sword raised
in case we change our minds.
Adam covers his face, I my nudity.
We are fresco. Adam says
art brought us to life. He says
we are naturalistic, with rounded bellies,
rendered in chiaroscuro—almost the first.
We were painted fast, on plaster.
We were painted on separate days.
Adam was fine with Paradise.
I’d had enough.
That is one serious angel.
Going back is not an option.
So we rush through the creamy portal
into the world beyond the painting’s edge.
We are the departure of the symbolic,
Adam says. We are real.
We are different.
He was happy to stay. I never thought
it was up to much, Eden. I felt patronised—
you know? God just sent rules
from on high. He was remote,
he had no mandate.
We are chalky white. My face is my shock.
We lacked for little but—it’s hard
to explain—it wasn’t ours.
That serpent insisted we could
take back control. I wanted
that. Now, I am sore afraid.
We have cast ourselves out.
We are the departure of the symbolic.
Look at us—we are bombed by shame.
Adam and I are fresco.
We were painted on separate days.
Chaos is Good News
I say to you:
chaos is good news.
It is not just hood and noose.
It is the dance of atoms
longing for love,
a yelp of glee,
a shudder of release,
a constant choosing
of joy in the random
and the deliberate –
not in ignorance
of both hood and the noose,
nor as an antidote
to hood and noose –
chaos makes joy.
I have news for you.
As there is darkness, so too
there is light. Even as the dark wave
of a floodwater high tide
engulfs you, chaos is also consciously,
gleefully rushing towards the empty space
to meet, exuberantly embrace every morsel
of tidal flotsam and jetsam.
All those found objects
the next day are the makings.
Chaos is good news.
It makes us makers whether
stories of storm and survival or
the quiet joy in purposeful making
using the random pieces of our self
that float beyond.
Bee Smith has subsidised her writing habit in many ways over the past three decades. Poems, short stories, creative non-fiction, have appeared in print publications in the USA, UK and Ireland; she current blogs as ‘The Crone from Corrogue.’ Ireland is her third country of residence where she rusticates in West Cavan. She teaches creative writing and is a member of the Art Council’s Writers in Prison panel.
Bee Smith facilitates Word Alchemy Creative Writing Workshops in West Cavan and is on the Irish Art Council’s Writers in Prisons panel. Her articles can be found widely across the blogosphere. She is the author of “Brigid’s Way: Celtic Reflections on the Divine Feminine” available as an ebook on Amazon. BrigidsWay.