By Ela Moss Shades of green over the hill My brother. My brother knows green. My brother knows green different from shamrock different from sage. That’s because he must know rifle different from gun when he aims at the beige of bodies at the roundabout. Stacked and filled and sludged and spilled and … More Submissions in Isolation
By Alex McGinty Creaking joints and spirits grey, Lay dark tablets down this day. Taught of Cthulhu, you must know, As above, so below. Like snarling tomcat, filled with hate, The wicked must accept their fate. With examination of hollow love, As below, so above. The coven dances on the hill, Spreading dread, fear, doom, … More So Below
By Madeleine Roche If things turned out differently, would I have met you? You were never supposed to come here. You were supposed to stay miles away from me, drifting through your life as I was with mine. But some plans don’t work out and, damn, am I lucky yours didn’t? Do you believe in … More 우주가 우릴 위해 움직였어 (The Universe Has Moved for Us)
By Katherine Gomes She quivers: A lamb yearning for the slaughter by the boy raised on foul mouth and slapped wrists. Eyes that pierce her glass chest – someone’s daughter Hearts stretched and contorted like clay hereafter A keepsake for the kiln crafted by fists of her quivering body: a lamb yearning for the slaughter … More The Collector
By Ed Wallace They found the cyclops blinded, fossilised wood and bone. In a cave on the blue Aegean, in the cave that was his home. They found a broken larder, trace milk and cheese. They found a spinning wheel stained with faded woad. No butcher’s knife, though. No block of cutting stone, only scratched … More A Cave on the Blue Aegean
By Claire Miller Prompt from our Poetry Soc Collab. They tried to cut the creature, but knives bounced off his skin. They tried to rip and tear and saw, but only stretched his grin. The emerald jelly taunted their curiosity. His very being held the key to high viscosity. Eventually they used a spoon to … More Autopsy of the Blob
by Claire Miller This piece was born from the same prompt as Matthew Bird’s, Beginnings. (Inspired by T.S Eliot’s The Wasteland) April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, as if winter’s icy hand never touched the warm earth, and with frosted nails grabbed either end of the riverbed and cracked its … More Winterfold
By Katherine Gomes Oh how we crane withered necks towards the, Sky that overarches existence Stretching arms upward, craving to govern the seasons Deluding ourselves with the power of Gods that we do not possess yet Desire Wanting to encompass the raging flame, but settle for the kindling that feeds the fire Drunk with power … More Playing God
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