“Breath the nice air,”
he said, leaning across
the adjustable chair
and shoving a flexible mask
over my nose
and mouth.
I started to gag
biting down hard
on a rubber bung
he’d previously shoved
between my teeth
and tongue.

Slowly the lights
went out
and a weird dream about Telstar
zoomed in and out
together with a soundtrack;
keyboard music blasted out,
then a creaking, grinding sound
entered my brain.
It creaked, stopped
and creaked again
followed by a sudden
snap. . .

And through a haze of fog
a voice was heard.
“wake up,” it said
“there’s a good lad,”
as consciousness returned
with a blood-filled mouth.

I made a hasty retreat
with parent in-tow
dripping gore along the
pavement
on the way home.

© copyright David Pike, 26th April 2018

The eternal Ibizza like party
of my forbearers
immigrants lost,

AM bodies fall
from reverie

A grubby child
sent to church
to be an angel on
the life raft of God

Who’s been saved?
I peek from under
folded arms,
only my hand unraised,

___
Terez Peipins is a writer of Latvian descent from Western New York. Her poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in publications both in the United States and abroad. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry. Her novels, The Shadow of Silver Birch and Snow Clues are published by Black Rose Writing. She won the 2016 Natasha Trethewey Prize in poetry from the Atlanta Writers Club. She was a runner up in the Foundlings Press Chapbook and Artist Residency Competition in 2018.

The brave little soldier looked fear in the eye,
He said, ‘I am a soldier, I never say ‘die’.’
He threw back his shoulders and stuck out his chin,
He gathered his thoughts; determined to win.
His eyes, they focussed; the enemy did quake.
‘Come on,’ he cried, ‘my courage won’t shake.’
He lifted his sword, one of paper made,
And forward he ran, not one moment afraid.
Before those sweet eyes the enemy fled,
So the brave little soldier went gladly to bed,
A soldier of courage in our hearts will live,
The bravest of soldiers gave all he could give.

The eternal Ibizza like party
of my forbearers
immigrants lost,

AM bodies fall
from reverie

A grubby child
sent to church
to be an angel on
the life raft of God

Who’s been saved?
I peek from under
folded arms,
only my hand unraised,

___
Terez Peipins is a writer of Latvian descent from Western New York. Her poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in publications both in the United States and abroad. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry. Her novels, The Shadow of Silver Birch and Snow Clues are published by Black Rose Writing. She won the 2016 Natasha Trethewey Prize in poetry from the Atlanta Writers Club. She was a runner up in the Foundlings Press Chapbook and Artist Residency Competition in 2018.

Come forth and slap me with your sharpened tongue and I shall take a blade and cut the serpent off.
For I speak within my soul,
something you degenerates would never know.
For the world I live in is mine and mine alone.
There is nothing here for you but the sticks and stones.
Mock my words and play thy games;
One thing for sure you will remember my name

The ruins were overgrown
with brambles & briars.
Crumbled walls cast shadows
in the moonlit gloom
& toadstools crunched underfoot.
Cold drafts seeped from
subterranean vaults.
Ghostly lovers embraced
like tangled roses.

–William P. Robertson

Little glitters of sunshine

Little trickles of rain

Resonate in my thoughts

Like flashes of light

Tremble like joy

Breathe with fear

Words spoken

Like splinters of glass

Or feathers that lift

High above the earth

In a blink they emerge

Asking for essence

Asking for clarity

Making themselves known

Please, don’t let the flowers
on my grave wither and die,
because if you do, I know
Mum and Dad will surely cry.

All Saints church stands tall, dignified,
not far from the grave where I lie,
A church filled with soulful people,
but ‘miss you, Mike,’ I hear you sigh.

In mellow eventide or chapel,
I hear the sharp bells ring out.
Once Dad took me into the belfry,
I loved the thrill without a doubt.

But there is a wind so cold,
as it blows across my chest.
I thank God for singing birds;
happy songs I love the best.

I’ll sing a song of sunshine,
my, I love the many seas so blue,
playing on the golden beaches
of the Med, Greece and Malta too.

My life has never ever been easy,
about DMD, there’s much to say.
But I’ve always done my best,
to smile, to…