The prints you laid – Gareth Culshaw

 

The coast elbowed the land

a sea came from afar

nudged the pebbles until they rolled.

 

We walked. Left a memory

in the road. I unclipped

the lead from my hand,

 

and you cut away the distance

between yourself and a gull.

 

I followed the earth’s golden dust

as you pounded the edge of land

and water.

 

An oystercatcher flicked up into the gulp.

I watched the sun on your fur

 

that carried light, put prints

in the sand before I got there.

 

I hope they’re still around to lead me

when I go back, alone.

 


Gareth lives in Wales. He has two collections by FutureCycle, The Miner & A Bard’s View. He is a current student at Manchester Met.

Morning cat – Demi Lloyd

 

He basks in morning beam.

The sofa cradles, heart pulsates.

He watches me, charmed eyes.

Work at 6, haven’t slept.

I call in sick and stroke his head.

 


Demi Lloyd recently gained a Masters degree in Creative Writing at Nottingham Trent University. She is part of a poetry group based in Nottingham called GOBS and is working towards her contribution to their spoken word showcase in March. In her spare time you can find her reading, listening to podcasts or thinking about cats.

dog love – Lisa Reily

 

when, after ten years, the two of us were no longer alone

and a new man entered my life, took your seat

in the front of my car, you gnawed a seatbelt to shreds

in the backseat, freely expressing your disgust.

 

he and I thought you were sick, but it was love sickness, 

and loyalty. 

slowly, you allowed him to play with you,

granted him a ball, sometimes one of your soft toys;

you tolerated his presence at our table, if only for morsels,

traded seats without a whimper,

wagged your tail, if only briefly, upon his arrival at our door,

 

until one day, we both learned to trust him.

 


Lisa Reily is a former literacy consultant, dance director and teacher from Australia. Her poetry has been published in several journals, such as Amaryllis, London Grip, The High Window, Panoplyzine, Channel Magazine, The Fenland Reed, as well as Foxglove Journal. You can find out more at lisareily.wordpress.com.

Dreaming of Dog – Linda Imbler

 

Come to me while I’m sleeping,

show me that you are trusting of me

and that you wish to go home.

Show me that you wish to see your backyard,

that you like your doghouse

on the porch – with your bed.

You’ll find your soft blanket,

you’ll settle into deep and restful sleep,

where dreams of rabbits are waiting

for you and you’ll watch them frolic. 

Come to me while I’m sleeping,

show me that you love your dinner

and the crunchy treats that follow

after that last bite.

Then you’ll follow me inside

and I will pet you while you nap,

pet your head, then chest,

pet your back down to the tail,

recalling your busy day

and looking forward to tomorrow.

Come to me while I’m sleeping,

show me that you are happy

that you have found me. 

You’ll come to me,

walk into my arms and not squirm,

rest your head on my breast

and let me kiss the top of your head,

and I will smell your fur and feel its thickness.

Come to me because I have called you

and you have answered.

 

 

SONY DSCLinda Imbler is the author of the published poetry collection “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” Her work has appeared in deadsnakes.blogspot.combehappyzone.com,
bluepepper.blogspot.combuckoffmag.com, Fine Flu Journal, Bunbury Magazine, Blognostics, Nailpolish Stories, Broad River Review Literary Magazine, Mad Swirl, Ascent Aspirations: Friday’s Poems, Unbroken Journal, The Voices Project, GloMag, The Beautiful Space, and Zingara Poet. Linda has poems forthcoming in Leaves of Ink, Halcyon Days, PPP Ezine, The Moon Magazine and Bindweed. Online, she can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player resides in Wichita, Kansas.