Dear Reader

I like walking worn down tracks Where the beat of human feet Has steadily marked the time. Paths where trees eclipse the sky and where dabbled light anoints The knotted and gnarled ground. Long lanes scarred by raised roots Which form illegible inscriptions; Where vegetation creates a nave and the trail itself an endless aisle. A placid place that celebrates Feet moving in communion. --- O.T. Park lives and works in Guildford. He has had poems published in Eye Flash Poetry, The Dawntreader and The Cannon's Mouth.

Today, I walked. Riverside paths that led through and past my fantasy escape, into Reality, broken exhaust fumes and fractured conversations, whispers Of promises, breaths of sunshine glinting across currents, watery intrusions welcomed within my peace. Gulls called as a dazzling elegance of swans skimmed to the Cathedral steps, promised food in return for the sustenance of watching a beauty still existing. Shedded feathers bobbed along the river, forming cirrus clouds atop the wavelets. Scents played peek-a-boo, tickling noses and faces with fragrant hints of summer emerging in the musical notes suffusing through the earphones, catching the rhythm of my breath. Smiles were nodded as the shackles withered, the cautious stepping aside with apology, still afraid to taste the freedom on offer. The smorgasbord of fear still laid out on the tables of a misled populace; we were offered a reassured safety, protection. We received the darkness of uncertainty. Yet I feel that clouds are lifting

dedicated to the Hubble Space Telescope shot up into the cosmos, eased  into an orbit around Earth you have silently watched   as comets wag their tails  of dust and light through solitary jaunts   and you have silently watched as stars violently die, time after time  in a luminous burst of color   and you have silently watched as the far ends of space  beam echoes of its creation into your brain   and it is through your eyes  i first learned   that the universe is more vast meaningful and complex than my existence will ever be  --- Tiffany Shaw-Diaz is a Pushcart Prize and Dwarf Stars Award nominee who also works as a professional visual artist. Her poetry has been featured in Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, Bones, NHK World Haiku Masters, The Mainichi, and dozens of other publications. Her first chapbook,  says the rose , was published by Yavanika Press in 2019, and her second chapbook,   filth ,  was published by Proleteria in 2020.

Swathed in slate and ivory, newly bound by gold, they drive in the knife as one. Beneath the blade, the snow white surface cracks, crumbs scatter. The carved up parts are handed out  to sisters, cousins, college friends, wrapped in paper bandages,  saved for another day. --- Joe Williams is a writer and performing poet from Leeds. His latest book is ‘This is Virus’, a sequence of erasure poems made from Boris Johnson’s letter to the UK during the Covid-19 pandemic. His verse novella 'An Otley Run', was shortlisted for Best Novella at the 2019 Saboteur Awards. More information can be found at:  www.joewilliams.co.uk