Category: Poetry

The Next Slide by Dawn Vincent (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Think back to a time whenthe word ‘slide’ meant fun,an adrenaline rush.Now they are just the next bitto which you should pay attention.No one ever asksto slide againin presentations. Dawn lives in a quaint village in Colchester, Essex, with her partner. She began writing in her teens as a way to express the frustrations of adolescence and the writing stuck

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Words removed by the OED in 2030: 1. Mystery by Vic Pickup (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Mystery She was seductive, spectre-like. There,or maybe not. She’d like to keep themguessing, laughing from beyond the ether.But now she lies still in her grave,the growth of her hair slowing by the day. Our children’s eyes will not grow widereading books about the Turin shroud,Bermuda triangle, birth of Jesus.All the answers are there, in sans-serif.Our children’s children will have to

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Recognising Love by Jenny Lane (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

It’s true you forgotabout the woman you wereabout us, about everything—but you remembered to smile. We saw it in the sunken jowls,the toothless cheeks,the way your head sank and your back curved,when you saw but could not see. It was your tiny framecurled into a chair, motionlessheavy-lidded and restful.Remembering was tiring work. It was almost funny when,in clans of four

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Stranger in the mirror by Shahida Seedat (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

I am looking in the mirror,And what do I see?A young father playing with his children,By the deep, blue sea,Holding their hands so tightly,As the gentle tide advances,Retreats. Each grain of wet sand conjoined,A wet blanket covering our feet.Cotton white seagulls gliding in harmony,Overtaking the glistening sun,Giant rocks lay sleeping amongst the quiet waves,As though they are one,Cool cucumber sandwiches

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Where the sun was by Harsh Ramchandani (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

When we used to visitin the summeryou were old as oak Your cabin scented withCedar and smoked latakiastubbornly lit by oil lamps We chased fireflies with yourode on horsebackand settled under the stars Till we grew upforgetting the summersthat you never did You wrote us letterseven when we didn’twrite backand I would give anythingto take back the words“We’re too busy

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The Orangery by Gale Burns (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Down the veranda steps, along the flint path,past the dry sand beds is the Orange House,where oranges have never been grown.My cousins set a chair and three heat-light bulbs,screwed to asbestos to make a tropical seat.The plan: my grandfather, going blind and deaf,will recover from winter; will relive hisIndian days in light and warmth, maybe smokea Camel or two. Whether

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Shtetl by Monika Trotula (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Round like a Passover pancakewatchful and silent moonhas ascended over the rooftops,daunting dogs.Kaddish prayers have long diffused,candles flicker outdybbuks lurking in the cornersstudy the white gowns and loose black hair of the sleeping women.Mice prowl in the walls,stone wells tranquil,olive oil lamps keep quiet vigilwhile their flames dance with the shadows of the brooms and fire hooks.Commodes and cupboards being

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Gods of Time by Katrina Dybzynska (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

Clocks used to hesitate. Moon faced to let us believein the possibility of returns. As if for a jokea cuckoo would jump out.Cogs were getting stuck, springs crackled. They requested careful offeringsof oiling and winding up.Time was sensitiveto temperature and movements. The early clocks were showing only hours.Minutes we could keep in the pockets,like pilfered change. The clock ruled only

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silence by Diane Jackman (Lucent Dreaming Issue 8)

the house is silentno clocks no carsno animals no trainssilent as the gravewhere he lies undernine feet of that earthhe loved so much it is so silent I amhardly here fading imageof the woman I once wasI could disappearsilently unobtrusivelyout of characterno one would see me go the sound of a wineglasspicked up and set downa slight creak of the

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