ACROSTIC POETRY // Droid Antediluvian

Perambulation is something that featured a lot in Iron Uncle’s
Upbringing. His travelling oilcan never once dried up.
Rarely did his joints give out or his suspension develop clanky carbuncles.
Geez, he skipped up hill and down dale like a pumped-up pup!
And did you know he could bench press a thousand Tiny Tins if he really wanted to?
Tinderellas were thrilled with his seductive cast-iron buns.
Oh, if only he could return to those halcyon days and youth anew,
Rekindle what used to be instead of chased for conversion by rumpty nuns.
Years roll past like parts on a conveyor belt, and rust never sleeps.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

GUEST POST // Brokenness by Madhuri Katti

Brokenness

Sometimes I wonder,
Is it the brokenness
which holds the world together?
a crack that still holds parts?

Is it the brokenness that
unveils the Whole?
The imagined whole –
That never will be or
Maybe never was…

Even if the cracks give away –
Can broken pieces be
whole parts in themselves?
Or maybe broken parts
Will create a kaleidoscope

Sometimes I wonder
Is it the brokenness
that holds the world together?

What purpose does the Whole serve?
The Whole which excludes,
smugly nestled in itself
Till a crack breaks the egoistic shell
The Whole will never be a whole

Sometimes I wonder,
Is it the brokenness that
holds the world together?

Borders divide land and humans
But yet, when challenged
The humanity that rises,
Is often more than the sum
Of the broken souls

Sometimes I wonder,
Is it the brokenness that
that holds the world together?

 

by MADHURI KATTI
© All rights reserved 2018

ACROSTIC POETRY // Droid Avunculate

Uncle, tell me a bedtime story!
Promise me sleep right after that?

Bearded myths say there’s a purgatory
Right after death, right after begat.
Its goddamned inmates are forever doomed to
Never succeed in finding ease of breath,
Getting sick with chronic, emotional flu,
Insides torn ‘tween flame life and ice death.

No way, Iron Uncle, do they still have human pith!
Godspeed, Tiny Tin. People are just a silly ancient myth.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

GUEST POST // Ripe fruit by Candice Louisa Daquin

The body
Is a soft pomegranate
Shiny seeds spilling out
Soft offering proffers
Sell by date
Arbitrary or fated circles within circles
Once, you bled
The same crimson as a dress you wore to fireworks night
Until invisible hands
Ushered away the urge to bring
Life wriggling on flat earth
Straining you heard
A primal cry
It was you
Half covered with sweat
Shaking off
The emptiness of the day
Your belly full
Of hours

 

by CANDICE LOUISA DAQUIN
© All rights reserved 2018