Category: Poetry

Sputnikola by Lew Furber (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

There are two things you can do while waiting for eyelash glue to dry: you can wonder what kind of wave to give the people in the glass-bottomed boat of mediocrity as the arc of your life crests under their little viewing window and disappears into the murk, or you can watch a drag queen fall from the sky into

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Space Gun by M Chambers (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Bright nebulas light the round eyes,As the hand boy-stretches towards the shelf.Fingers close lovingly round the prize,Not plastic and paint but space-hardened metal.Not lights and sounds, but endless adventures.The shop vanishes; he is gone.He is leaping across deserts towards a fabled city, on the edge of a silver sea.Wrestling with monsters, gargantuan, unspeakable,In the raw visceral depths of some alien

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Vorest Boar by Bethany Handley (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Over the mines and under the oaks, the cratur ploughsthrough the bracken. Followed by a dozen humbugsit oiks and tosses the drying moss, pizzin’ the vorest,the nesh ground crumples and flumps, releasingthe hum of the miners as the boar snaps daddocky:thou’ it the song as they hauled up the dipple, tushinthe coal from the heart of the Dean. Armed with

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This one kind of jellyfish doesn’t die by Lisa Byus (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

A polyp pulses in the primordial deepUndulating into an ephyra in another epochLuminous beneath fathoms and fathoms and fathoms and moreSuspended in centuries of silent depths, then stirringAn eternal Cambrian climbing to the rippling sunlightAnd the break of age. Lisa enjoys writing poems, ancient history, and one Irishman. Also brownies. Buy issue 8 today. Lucent Dreaming is an independent creative

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Obsidian by Eve Thomas (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

on the bus home in February,streetlight refractsthrough the condensationon the glass,pollinating raindrops. Orange scales glowlike wet nebula,melting sirens to a cotton hum. I drift into the blackspaces between things,dripping intovacantgaps. Without linoleum floors,cash machines,stale 5pm faces — horses spin on carousels,coins turn in breathless wells. Eve Thomas lives in Bristol and studies Art and Creative Writing at Bath Spa University.

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Cromer Dusk by Olivia Walwyn (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Sea a stretch of pinkshot silk, creasing and uncreasingunder the slowmasked ebb of the sun. The break-water’s neck cool,up-stretched.The cormorants closeand unflex their wings like umbrellas.Everyone’s gone home.I get in on my own,wade out, against the heavily pushing waves –like huge cats,dunk a little, and divethen breaking the surface, swimming underthen up the other sideof the next slope.I do it

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How far Pluto is from the Sun by Roy Duffield (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

How far you areFrom the SunPre-1931They’re completely unawareThey don’t even know you’re thereAs you set outOn your longest journey yetWe’ll never be this close againCut offBehind a wallOf black-out paintThree billion miles thickAnd counting…And just out of reachFrozen through−218 degreesAnd counting…Of insufficient massAnd far too farFrom anything else(Four billion miles nowAnd still counting…)For anything elseTo be moved byOr even feelThe

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Standing Mamma by Li-Li Nectar Bennett (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Standing MammaI feel youHow many nights unsleptYour head is a globe on exhausted axesAnd the bus doesn’t stop turning for youYou plant your feet like a martyrNothing will pull you from your sleeping babyYou stand by his side the whole journey,Long. Standing MammaI feel youUp against the pole like JoanLegs as wide as the Eiffel TowerYou stand bigger than any

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Onomatopoeia by Amber Denwood (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

If I could crack my spine  like you can crack your knuckles  or like I can crack your patience  or like lightning cracks the oak.Then I would crack my spine.Clean, right down the middle.Just to see what I keep inside.What secrets my bones hold. I know each crack along my vertebraeis one split closer to the end.But wouldn’t it be

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