Michael Jackson
The gallery Delightfully, now, we dance in the undergrowth where brambles, so persuasive, regulate our tender desires We grow so fast We are oiled so well In the torn bark of a weeping willow we find a well-carved smile…
Chris McDermott
It leapt and spun I paused a moment before the clear glass at the entrance to our flat, held bound by the performance on our doorstep: the breeze bore a leaf and held it aloft in spiraling upward spins,…
Angela Kirby
DATA COLLECTION (or Chaffinches at Isfield) Some twenty yards ahead of me, this pot-holed lane veers left, trailing off into a gravelled track which disappears behind an elderberry tree. To my right an oak greens up for spring, verges…
morphrog17 contributors
E.A.M. Harris E A M Harris has been writing both prose and poetry for some time. Her work has appeared in magazines and anthologies, online and in print. Emma Lee Emma Lee's most recent collection is "Ghosts in the…
Lou Sarabadzic
From "The Google Philosophers" Making waves Do you think we should protect famous people’s privacy? ..............I think we need a bigger boat for that. The question is not about business it’s about responsibility. But what if the opposite is…
Peter Donnelly
Point of Origin When grief came to me It came to me as a journey. More than anything, its presence was bodily. When in its midst its endlessness Defined it – a scale of oceans, Or deep space. I am…
Jim Piatt
Enigmas I stand alone outside the vanishing twilight as the rusting sun descends slowly into the horizon, tinting the earth with an eerie pinkish-grey hue, and wonder about those questions, which have eluded my questioning mind. The softly blurring darkness,…
Lawrence Upton
LOOK UP Brentford White cloud and grey rain dark move east side by side as if together like trains at a large rail interchange; but here these aren't separated: they merge, maybe smash each other. The grey has shaded down,…
Jane Frank
Art Lessons with Molvig I inhabit the frames in this room just as if I’m perched inside my father’s head, flitting from beneath the awning of the old school in cumulus sky to a parched Gayndah paddock – Santa Gertrudis…