By Irina Diacenco

Strong, black coffee on a frosty November day,

The thrills of the birds transform bricks into clay

An amalgam of broken emotions fly and they may

Yesterday I begged disillusion to stay!

Imaginary thoughts trapped in a box

Spin with fervor and hunt like a fox.

Desirous to impose a reality of their own,

Suppress the world as it is known.

But despair not, you lost soul

You tossed and you turned until you found coal.

And misty indifference veiled the magic at dusk

The empty contents struck as poison in a flask!

Photo by Irina Diacenco


Discovering the night

By Irina Diacenco

Kind caresses and blind guesses,

Confidential, yet insurgent comes the night!

And we, as naked as we could be

In heavy, furry layers descend the flight!

Bleu marine, light blue, deep violet, shades of dark

Merge and emerge in our souls as stark.

And walking, dancing, laughing become intimacy,

Disguised in touch by night’s symphony.

Curious words evading stories,

Inflict themselves on lips of worries

Sheltered by fading lights of lamps, we run,

We gaspingly chase our fugitive syllables in fun,

But deeply desirous to dissipate in night

They transcend into jazzy songs and their delight!

And we, deeply blue, in fits of anger and passion

How intimate can night be in its attraction!

Photo by Irina Diacenco

"Between the Trees" by Sara Rich


By Sara Rich

Her walk was brisk as the day was too. The days were so short this time of year, with the shortest of them all only a week away.

Her thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere. As Christmas drew near, and Thanksgiving was over, she felt even more the foreigner, separated by an ocean and three languages from the hot hedge-burning fireplace that kept her family’s ranch house warm during wind-strewn and ice-ridden winters on the Great Plains.

As she walked, the cobblestones closing and counting the distance between her flat and the brick walls of the library, urine-soaked by decades of seven-a.m. drunks, she heard loneliness stumbling along after her, disguised as yellowed leaves whirling toward the backs of her feet.

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Human Glitch

By Alexandria Somirs

Glitches come naturally to all living earthlings,

above and below and in the in-betweens.

Some of us too small and some too be big;

some too hard and others too soft.

And others too wet while others too dry.

There are those of us who won’t walk,

but reach up for the sky and others who run,

searching for their appetite.

As one species multiply and the others divide,

programmers beyond sought equal sides.

But the biggest atrocity of human-kind is a little thing called curiosity.

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Foggy Dream

By Alexandria Somirs

Eyeing up thoughtfully to morning light,

I found myself to my dismay

Curled up tightly in layered folds.

Looking up I took in,

Feathering softly a foggy shade

Blue and tender, soaring up,

Tips and ends bend and sway

To misty spheres far and near

and all in between

Singing songs of far-sighted lands,

Creeping, peeping

In between all that’s fair,

A foggy mist enters near.

Droplets of matter start to fall

Casting a spell of perplexity,

As boundless and endless

the mind might seem,

We turn blind to

Our cloudy texture

Of endless wake.

Photo by Alexandria Somirs: taken in Hoegaarden, Belgium on a foggy morning.

The Travellers Coat

By Callum Dawson

I travelled to Ireland recently and it was there that I fell in love. I’d needed a holiday; Belgium’s studious atmosphere was becoming stifling. Boredom congealed in the libraries and the classrooms and I wanted nothing more than to escape over the horizon to some distant land. ‘I had made my song a coat,’ Yeats once proclaimed, ‘covered with embroideries, out of old mythologies from heel to throat.’ My own travellers coat had grown musty with misuse, made up of patchwork dreams stitched together with the clumsy weave of an amateur writer. But it was my coat all the same and I longed to throw it over my shoulders, feel its comforting weight upon my back, and search for creative inspiration, adventure and excitement. In my dreams I travelled frequently, and I wished to wander just as far in life. So I decided to go to Ireland with a group of good friends. And it was there that I fell in love.

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Elemental Sense

By Alexandria Somirs

Lets start at the end and make our way back,

Vibrating from a misty organ of unknown origin,

All senses in one and all scattered apart,

Trying to find sense in the unsensible,

Reason in poetry in two different tongues.

So lets start at the end and make our way back.

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The Three Virtues

By Callum Dawson


The bright endless deep

The ego burns in the night

I do not exist


Melt down my gold crown

Let the silver drops run free

I do not exist


No past act of good

Only future wears this crown

Only God exists

 Photo by Alexandria Somirs: taken in Hoegaarden, Belgium on a foggy morning.