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Dominic James lives in SW England with his partner, Helen, near the source of the Thames. He attends poetry meetings along the M4 corridor, from Richmond to Stroud in Gloucestershire. Published at home and abroad by, among others: Ink Sweat & Tears, The Cannon’s Mouth, SLQ and Kudzu Review. He has a blog needs feeding at www.djamespoetic.blogspot.co.uk.
The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by Dominic James and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
In winter the tree is a small thing, a pulled root,
it chimes strangely then Yggdrasil, the giant Ash,
The barrow’s tree long signified the rise of man:
and Ratatock, a chattering squirrel, runs the trunk
Give me, three girls at a drain, drinking cider,
Richard Lynch (Platja de Gandia, Spain) had beaten a drum as a boy before karma reclaimed the episodes, and beat him back. He wasn’t impressed, swallowed three toads, saying "oh, crap" only after the third, when he realized it was frogs he’d wanted, and his throat swelled him to the hospital. Some people count almonds to be sure there are enough in the bag…Richard only almonds when it counts. In recent years he has let his camera help him discover grotesque things, foods that lurk in the ice tables of fish mongers when he fails at fishing, and the sight of a woman so incredibly perfect that he was once consumed by the flames of a group of young boys she passed when they spontaneously combusted. Having risen from those ashes as well, he found people jealous of his nimbus, which he named Bob and taught various card tricks, and lives with his medusa, looking at her only through mirrors. When Bob turned to Three Card Monty, all bets were off, and so was the nimbus, creating a paradox so complex, Schrodinger’s cat begged for mercy loudly enough that you could hear it behind the door, and Bob (sometimes known as Three Card) was forced into slave labor at a repair shop called Quantum Mechanics where cars were fixed by putting them in a box and thinking. There are times when Richard’s antics become uncles. He hopes to have the opportunity to explain his life the right way, when it is over, again.
The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by Richard Lynch and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Letter to a Cumquat (or Entertaining the Raccoons)
I have not heard from you
I’ve been busy with the job
It takes my time like
The cumquat is like you
But I hope this letter