Poetry Verse

Silas Dwyer

Metamorphosis Published: March 22, 2026

That I could hammer the wispy wierdings Of my mind’s madness Into bands of clasping syntax. In a fiery forging, Ignite the unwieldly word Mould to make it same and sane. Find Plato’s print and press Ideal To weather the grey grasp of the Ages And make it stand for Ever. I revel, foolish in the folly of the New A precious ring to it Atop the Tower of Babel. Then, on breaching the mouth Crosses over as a phantom Word, chimeric as the smoky thought. Now, a shallow shadow of the formless Pressed to breath and puckered lips As stillborn hiss

Liebert Goochlaus

Symphony Published: March 09, 2026

The faint flute flutters its fleeting melody As the piccolo does the same, but never Quite as loud. The tuba blares its brassy horns And the trumpet thinks to itself; It sounds like sh*t.

Mini

Moments Published: February 24, 2026

Not to feel without the things, which you want to do. Without the stuff - you need to feel not alone. To forget! To feel not crying! Feel the lonliness without you! Feelings to stay strong for your child, for your family! But not for yourself! But okay, for other people, things, solutions! And where do you STAY in this Moments? Asking yourself...! MC. 26.11. 2023

Jean

Mirror at Forty Two Published: February 15, 2026

In this cracked bathroom light on 9th and A, I count the lines that gravity has drawn— a map of nights I waited up in vain, a census of the kisses never born. My face refuses beauty’s common grace; the jaw too square, the eyes too small and tired, cheeks pocked with old adolescent wars that acne lost but never quite retired. I loved a man who loved a softer girl, one whose reflection smiled without a fight. He left me echoes, polite and cold, and took the version of me he’d rewrote. I walk these streets like every other ghost— black coat, bl

Redbrick

nipping at your ghost Published: January 20, 2026

”Nipper” A small dog waits beside the brass horn, ears lifted, body held in that soft readiness only devotion can teach. Once a wanderer, he learned the shape of shelter in the warmth of a single voice. Now the room is quiet, yet he leans toward the horn's bright mouth as though a familiar breath might rise again from its painted metal. Brush in hand, he works the canvas again, colours deepening around the small dog's frame. The horn waits, bright at the rim, and the dog leans toward it, steady as breath before a word. Nothing

Strangerous

Nestlings Published: November 15, 2025

Wings open in Spring for the first time. The cat waits. Nestlings fly -- or die.