Writers Abroad II Tasmanic-Depressive One From London, the thought of Australia hangs from two pegs on the line, like a scrap of something melting. Tasmania, the first drop, a patch of foam from your duty free beer. You note with alarm that home-coming’s unsettled your ego – that cut flower. A barmaid wipes up a… Sue Stanford weiterlesen
Kategorie: Lit-Mag #34
International Literary Magazine – Writers Abroad II
Gabriele Pötscher
Writers Abroad II Heavenly Angel I once created a heavenly angel. No, not one of my children. They were already born. It was a time in my life when I thought I would be a subsistence farmer, or at least a subsistence gardener. “Das Leben auf dem Land” was my Bible and I made a… Gabriele Pötscher weiterlesen
Jörg Pfeifer
Writers Abroad II Aus der kalten Tiefe Sie liebten sich auch heute vor dem Aufstehen, so wie seit Jahren Morgen für Morgen, fast ohne Ausnahme. Da gibt es Aufzeichnungen, minutiös notiert von Emilda in ihrem Wandkalender. Ein Herz neben dem Datum bestätigt dies. Rot für den Morgen, andersfarbig, je nach Laune, die zusätzlichen Liebeleien. Meist… Jörg Pfeifer weiterlesen
Peter Murphy
Writers Abroad II The Cubicles After the worst event in her life Ann had been advised to join a recovery group. Though troubled by the swift fashion in which the therapist moved ahead she was delighted at the charming sunroom in which the session had been scheduled. ‘Today …’ the therapist explained, ‘I’d like to… Peter Murphy weiterlesen
Trevor Landers
Writers Abroad II Eastbourne Songs 1. Right there, at Pencarrow Head, alone Dawn sprung the waves washed o’er the sunblest blood hastily, receding in the tides of your eyes those eyes, irises of misshapen moons limp in your exsanguinated pool right there, at Pencarrow Head, alone 2. Spume over the road at Point Howard The… Trevor Landers weiterlesen
Cyril Wong
Writers Abroad II Poetry from Singapore Pure Disappearance Night – Outside, the city recedes to an echo of itself. Emptiness is divided again between us. And I love the beginnings of toes From where I am. I see your knees, blunted Peaks of faraway mountains. Returning As babies, our bed turns into a cradle We… Cyril Wong weiterlesen