Special Class

I dreamed X in a swimming pool a man on the side with a stopwatch a race I in the water too with others all competing

I dreamed X won because part of the scoring was on how elegantly you moved your body I just couldn't match her flow I would move nicely for a while but then my muscles would rebel a distracted twitch I couldn't get my parts to synchronise whereas she

She won a trophy ‘Special Class’ it said and I was both jealous and glad jealous because I didn't win glad because I didn't want the trophy object cluttering my bookshelf and needing to be dusted and justified


Jackson (Western Australia)

Case

He had tears rolling down his face
He said:
‘I’ve spent all my money on speed
I’ve stolen off my parents
I’ve stolen off my friends
I’ve broken into houses
I’m dealing to support my habit’
I should have said:
‘You’re really fucked up man’ and got him some help
But I said:
‘Have you got some now? Well let’s have some then’


Timothy Parkin (Western Australia)

Editor's reminder: we should not assume that this poem (or any poem) is autobiographical.

Spoonful of thoughts

rainy day
the count of every drop
from the hut's roof


moonless
the pack of words
untouched


what becomes of I
is what is left after
unbecoming


Poornima Laxmeshwar (India)

The feathers of the wilder colours

Is it really freefall
Or will you bounce off bends of the tunnel
Is it really freefall
Or will you also pass thru gray clouds of unease
Is it really freefall
Or will feathers of the wilder colours bounce off you
Is it really freefall
Or have the motors merely stalled
Is it really freefall
Or is it sometimes actually a sinking into...
IS IT REALLY FREEFALL JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN SEE ALL THE WAY TO COLD EARTH
IS IT REALLY FREEFALL JUST BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING MORE REAL THAN THE AIR RUSHING RIGHT THRU YOU
Is it really freefall — can it really happen like that?

Steve ‘JC the Washingmachine’ (Western Australia)

First published on the author's Facebook page

Too much thinking

While discussing death
With Marley
At 5 a.m.
Leaning forward
On a 3-legged chair
To keep from tipping
I noticed the dust
Collecting in the corners of the room
And wondered
If we kept talking too long
Would we bury ourselves
I kicked him out
Finally
And began to lay down
Strips of aluminium foil
So the light
Would cast my reflection
And I would know
That I was still alive


Andrew R Crow (Canada)