Category: Poetry

Red brick on the beach, by Shan Ahmed

The Sculptor by Julia Smith (Lucent Dreaming Issue 11)

I saw time, in a brickI found on Valentine’s DayWhile alone, walkingThe headland, to PenarthA bright deep orangeFlashing romantic redA beacon glowing in the greyIts corners carvedSmooth, sides softenedPockmarked, planed awayBy the Severn EstuaryLayer by layerFor longer than I could calculateBut which I could see, could feelTime in the tale of a brickI took home, to place on my mantelSo

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Abattoir by Oliver Shrouder (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

I didn’t realise the walk was by the abattoirwhen I drove us out in Marchthe last chills of Winter spreading outlike paper ready for colour –my eldest pointed at itasking Dad what is that what is thatat the distant corrugated domeI told them This is where they take the cowsto make them into foodmy eldest laughed at meand my youngest

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About Blanks by Catherine Dome (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

Due to limited control of our formatting on posts, the formatting of the following poem is incorrect. GapsBlanks SpacesAbsences perfectThe arrhythmic pulse of adamaged heartThe unreadable signs on her palms Scattered daisies the psalm of springbent on a frost soilrecoilingwaiting for the lightin no straight linemissing a few petalshissed away by the windBye. Buy issue 10 today. Lucent Dreaming is

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Birdsonnet by Ask Vestergaard (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

Is this a bird I hear? This voice so sweet?I greet the dawn and hear you gently sing:your honeyed hums, melodious (tweet-tweet!)croons (grrroo), your inhalations softly wing,rise up and (grrroo) up till – CRESCENDO-oh!You’re a soprano! God, my heart’s run through:your song’s tuned sharper than Cupid’s arrow‘Tis not a bird I hear, but you (who? whoooo?)Though your (bok) song’s like

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Steel-Framed Paradise by Isabel de Silva (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

When I was small, I would crawl under tables.Hidden in a utopia of polished MDF untilsomeone managed to coax me out again.Hands over my ears, eyes closed, trying desperately toblock everything out. There is something peaceful in places where sound is muffled.Dampened, yet still present.Standing in the toilet block in the village hall,mirroring the dancing steps of my peers incomplete

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Inventory of Important Things by Rose Segal (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

I keep the tax returns under the paperweight,the one with the feathers trappeddrifting through glass.My degree certificates in the cupboard under the stairsin a box labelled Cat Pictures.My passport, in the flippy part of that old guitar caselined with a velvety coffee-beige fluff.Driving license behind the teapotthat I keep stuffed with dry teabags.Birth certificate between the pages of Bleak House.Ideas

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