May 11-17, 2020: Poetry from Eric Nicholson and Scott Waters

Eric Nicholson and Scott Waters

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Eric Nicholson

Bio (auto)

Eric Nicholson is a retired art teacher who lives in the NE of England. He blogs about art, spirituality and the history of ideas. Visit Eric on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Eric Nicholson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.



today a skylark sang my prayer and
passed it on to the first green leaf of hawthorn
to the chattering swallows
to the wavy weeds in a rippling stream
to the fluttering red admirals
to a flash of sunlight on a glassy lake

my work is uncongenial and useless but even here
the buzz of a bee at the open window carries my prayer
onto a sundrenched sunflower bending across a path

the same long lived prayer is now less
tied to birds trees sunflowers or sea
it is always within it requires no waking no renewal
i am it i am the universe and it is the prayer



Part-found poem. Source: Richard Jefferies,
Autobiography, The Story of My Heart.

Scott Waters

Bio (auto)

Scott Waters lives in Oakland, California with his wife and son. He graduated with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Scott has published previously in A New Ulster, Selcouth Station, Adelaide, The Pangolin Review, Poetica Review, Amethyst, Ink in Thirds, Praxis, Shot Glass Journal, The Santa Clara Review, and many other journals.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Scott Waters and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.



We drive

my son and I

through wind and rain
and arrive at a
warehouse door

peeling grey paint
cracked window
no sign
no doorbell
no cars outside

as we turn to leave
the door opens
and a woman
with cloudy grey hair
greets us
with a candle
of a smile


inside we find
a vast shadowy room
lined with high shelves

a colossal Ultraman
with a red and silver helmet
grazing the rafters

Godzillas in a row
of descending sizes

low tables
covered with thousands
of miniature glass
and plastic characters
from manga books
and anime

Totoro backpacks
and key chains
Monkey D Luffy
and his pirate crew

Naruto and his
ninja friends

my son’s eyes
as large as
Taiko drums


I make small talk
with the owner
while my son
roams around
and the rain hammers
on the tall windows

she’s been in business
for 38 years
and used to have
a store packed
with paying customers
before the Internet
killed almost all
her foot traffic

she goes on
to talk about
the white oak
that fell in a storm
a month earlier
and crushed a corner
of her house
while she slept
in another room


the storm outside
grows claws
rattling the
Douglas fir skeleton
of the old building

I wonder how long
till the lights go out
and we are left
to fumble our way
in pitch blackness
through the legs
of giants


snug at home
hot chocolate
in our hands

we hear on the news
that a man was killed
two miles from
the warehouse
when a 120 foot
fell on his car

at approximately
the same time
we were leaving
the warehouse

without buying anything.