Published by Poetry Editor on June 8, 2015. This item is listed in Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry

One Persistent Eye

In the throes of that almost lost day,
telescopes became blind
to the infinite spirals
at the edge of existence,
yet one persistent eye
along the winding river
mirrored the velocity of colors,
gathered an array of galaxies at twilight
without so much as a blink.
I leaned into the face of the future,
saw shapes of dreams
come together like a jigsaw puzzle
no longer owned by ghosts.

I stepped out of the helix,
and only weighed a melody.

Darrell Lindsey is the author of Edge of the Pond (Popcorn Press, 2012), and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize (2007) and a Rhysling Award (2014). He won the 2012 Science Fiction Poetry Association Contest (Long Form category), as well as the 2014 Balticon Poetry Contest. Most recently, he had two poems published in Outposts of Beyond (January 2015 issue). He loves the imaginative leaps found in good speculative poetry.

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Published by Poetry Editor on June 8, 2015. This item is listed in Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry

Heliopause

A borderland
barrier of atoms dancing
under the last pull of the sun

The rush of silence
like a favorite song
skipping for the first time

The reach of our yearning star
that’s stretched and strained
until finally it’s time to tear away

Go beyond the boundary
past the discord
of trans-Neptunian noise

And listen
to unimagined symphonies
bind unknown spheres

Where the interstellar threshold
beckons the limit of imagination’s
capacity for fear

There has never been dark like this
nor beyond, such light

Barry Charman is a writer living in North London. He has been published in various magazines, including Ambit, Popshot, Bare Fiction Magazine, Firewords Quarterly and The Alarmist. He has poems published online at Every Day Poets and Postcard Poems & Prose. He has more recently had poems published in The Leading Edge, and Lunar Poetry.

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Published by Poetry Editor on June 7, 2015. This item is listed in Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry

Tread With Me

I stumble
on a snake
and smile.
Flicks of rocks
shoot through grass,
dart over sand
like breath:
a lean form
between the patterns
in the pebbles.
To be startled,
then aware.
To surrender my
sphere because
the snake’s home
is in the apple tree.
But lord I know
the same damned
life pumps in him
as does in me.

Anna Autilio graduated with a B.S. in Animal Science and a minor in Creative Writing from Cornell University in May 2014, where she won two awards for poetry and fiction. She has work in Rainy Day and The Fine Line. She has also published her graduate research on avian scavengers, including a coloring book, “Caracaras of the World.” She currently lives in Boise, ID, where she’s pursuing a Master’s degree in Raptor Biology, and volunteers at the World Center for Birds of Prey.

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