On Love, An Anthology

Last month we issued a submissions call for art that responded in some way to love, and our writers didn’t disappoint. In fact, we were a little overwhelmed by the number of submissions we received, particularly in the poetry genre, so we decided to reflect this through a selection of the poems that came our way.

This is our very first virtual anthology of writing, On Love. We hope you enjoy it.

Robin Wyatt Dunn, It Was You

it was you
or could have been
what night
what headache
what adventure
what hellion
or rumor of a hellion
whose shape
whose number
whose lover
whose ethereal delight
the rum and the rind
scented
clementine
and forsythia
the umbrage
of your parking meter
and your gut

the boss of the night

and the smell of the restaurant’s air
the mist of the ineluctable plummeting mass

of your body

running

running

running

run from me
for I am come to Los Angeles
or perhaps its cousin

with my eyes

hold me
for I terrify
in my shakes
and bones

peer deeper
and catch the mold
I am shivering
to press you in

send fire
I can hear it
somewhere nearby
rustling behind the wall

send word
encoded

send hope
thundering over the city
black rain
and blue thunder

send your love
dying
raining and crying
in the rain

who is it that said I was yours
when I was born
what world is this
whose shapes fall vast and silent over my head
prancing
and hovering
mirroring the void

whose shape will you wear
when you take me to the party
whose costume?

will it be Lex Luthor?

I will be Superman

Dancing with you

Lorraine Carey, Blemish

The blemish above your left eye
was not a gift at birth, a bestowal of
conjoined capillaries

but a flashback of explosive rage
your skin branded under rolled-up sleeves,
mindful of unwanted queries.
The burns, the scars and bruises
hidden with your shame,
as she stamped you out
in public corners.

You crumbled like cliff tops,
glued the fissures over,
grasped at hope as it slipped away

Missiles from bookshelves,
wine fuelled ire, walking on eggshells
balancing on wires.
Merlot’s magic darkened as she licked
her stained teeth, the ugliness
stark as she cried out her sorrys
professed her love and her promises
for change.

Iris M Mora, Crossing the Needle

I am used

along with another

We cross paths she and I,

maneuvered by the practice of your craft.

You manufacture love,

braid our affection like cable.

The dexterity of your fingers makes us warm,

you never resist expanding

the pattern. It grows,

your manipulation of our lives.

We do have boundaries

but you need a sweater;

a cashmere extension,

interlaced with the sum of your lies.

Scott Thomas Outlar, Humming with the Angels

Your love is like a waterfall from Valhalla,
pouring down to earth in heavy waves
that wash away the dirt from my skin,
baptize my soul with a spiritual salve,
and rinse out the speck from my eyes
so I can clearly see
the beautiful rainbow that appears
as a reflection of your heart
after the storm has passed.

Your love is like sugar in the morning,
scooped into a cup of coffee
to sweeten the early hours of each day
with a wonderful taste
that teases my tongue
and sends an electric buzz
surging through the blood
while every cell of my system
is lit up in energetic ignition.

Your love is like a song of the holy spheres,
an opera of God that bursts in the heavens,
a melody whispered from the lips of angels,
an echo that resonates throughout all of creation,
a powerful note infinite in its scope,
an elemental sound eternal in nature,
a masterpiece,
a symphony,
a lyric
perfect
in form.

Helen Gaynor, On Love

Unoccupied space, capacity,
something of scope… expansion…
with dimensions, height, width and depth,
where all things exist.

A state akin to a god-black hole
of which there is, it is said, one for every galaxy,
attracting multitudes of colliding particles, whirling,
emitting energy brighter than Sirius.

When I fell for you, I shone. With unimaginable brilliance,
your magnetism – which could not be resisted –
drew me in. Afterwards, I was unlit matter,
forever floating in my own orbit.

Contributors’ Notes

Robin Wyatt Dunn writes and teaches in Los Angeles. Recently he was made a finalist for poet laureate of his city.

Lorraine Carey from Greencastle, Co Donegal has poetry featured/forthcoming in the following: The Honest Ulsterman, The Galway Review, Vine Leaves, Quail Bell, Proletarian, A New Ulster, Stanzas, Poetry Breakfast, Olentangy Review and Live Encounters. Her first poetry collection will be published in May. She now lives in Co. Kerry.

Iris M Mora graduated with an MA in Writing from NUI Galway. She attended the University of Central Florida, where she holds a BA in English with honours in the Major in Creative Writing. Her poetry has been published in The Cypress Dome Society and Literary Magazine, The Galway Review, and ROPES, to name a few.

Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com, where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, and books can be found. He recently received three Pushcart Prize nominations for his work in 2016. Scott is a member of The Southern Collective Experience. He serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, and The Peregrine Muse.

Helen Gaynor is an artist, writer and musician from Wexford, Ireland. She has a successful practice as a painter, teaches flute and recorder, has work included in a number of publications, and has been shortlisted for the Gregory O’Donoghue award.

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